


The Pack Survives

by story_telling_sage



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18904519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/story_telling_sage/pseuds/story_telling_sage
Summary: Jon Snow had spent the first fifteen years of his life in and out of the foster system. Now he's found his family, but he's left unsure if it will be too good to be true. Jon has a rough estimate of what family should be and in his experience, it isn't always a pretty picture.When Jon Snow becomes Jon Stark, will he find out what family really means?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, here's my first drip into the Game of Thrones fandom. You'll get my opinions on the last season later, but for now have this exploration of the Stark family because I love the Stark family. 
> 
> Tags will be added as we update! But don't worry, this will have everyone from Ser Davos to Gendry!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets his family. Ned meets his nephew. Feelings abound.

Jon Snow was a foster kid. He had been ever since his mother left him on the steps of a hospital in the middle of the night. A nurse came out to take her smoke break even in the frigid, winter cold, and found Jon instead. He was a small child at not even three months old and if he had been left out any longer he probably would have frozen in the snow instead of lived to be named after it. The nurses gave him “Jon” from a forgotten baby name book in the breakroom and they gave him “Snow” after the thing he survived, the thing he had already overcome. They hoped the name would protect him as they passed him off to social services, like a good luck charm. It was a good sentiment, if not one that actually worked. 

Jon thought about his name as he stood in front of a nicer house than he had even been in before. For the last fifteen years, he has just been Jon Snow. Synonymous with worthless, with unwanted, with poor. It was a name that meant abused, meant get the fuck back up, meant don’t you dare give up. And here he was, being told his name was Jon  _ Stark _ . Being told he had a mother, a father, a family. Jon didn’t know how to believe it, even if his social worker, Mr. Mormont, had never lied to him. The man was brutally honest, even when Jon wished he hadn’t been.

Mr. Mormont stood by the car now, letting Jon collect himself for a moment. He wished he had Ghost with him, but Jon hadn’t wanted to risk the wolfhound on this new supposed family. She had stayed with Tormund and Ygritte and Jon tried to ignore the ache. He tried not to think of the last time Mormont left him somewhere, tried to remind himself he had a place when this inevitably all went wrong, tried to breathe. All Jon had wanted when he was younger was a family, and now one was being offered to him. An aunt and uncle with five children of their own. In a different life they would have been his siblings, but now they’re just strangers. In a different life... well, this wasn’t a different life. 

“Come on, son,” Mormont said, once he’d had enough of the teenager’s brooding. Jon had more of a right to brood than most kids his age, but Jeor did have a job to do and this was starting to waste time. “They won’t hurt you.”

Jon laughed a hollow, bitter thing. Jon was as likely to believe that as Ghost was likely to become a vegetarian. Jon didn’t care how well Mormont thought he knew the Starks, people always hurt Jon. Best to get it over with then, the sooner they showed their true colors, the sooner Jon could leave. If he got in a bad situation again… if the Starks ended up like Thorne, or even worse… like Craster… Jon would leave.

_ We’re still your family,  _ Ygritte had promised and Jon held onto that promise like he held onto the memory of her smile and Tormund’s laugh. With a final deep breath, he started walking up the stone pathway. He grasped the strap of his duffle bag tightly, trying to stay calm. Luckily, when they reached the door Mormont was the one to ring the bell. Jon wasn’t entirely sure he’d been able to make himself move, even if he had had to. A few moments passed before Jon heard the barking of dogs and the skitter of shoes against the hardwood floor.

Muffled yelling made Jon cringe back, taking no comfort in the hand Mormont rested on his shoulder.

“Back Nymeria,” someone said before opening the door. The man was bent over, using one hand to hold onto the collar of a purebred husky and the other to keep the door propped open. Jon couldn’t help but smile down at the dog even if he was wary of the man. As the dog, Nymeria, settled, he straightened up. He reached almost six feet tall and wore a button down and some dress slacks that probably cost more than Jon’s entire wardrobe. His dark-blonde hair was pulled back in a neat bun. Jon didn’t dare look up and try and look him in the eyes, instead, he kept his gaze on his boots and breathed.

“You must be Jon,” the man said. His voice was breathless, almost like he was waiting on something. “I’m… I’m Ned. Ned Stark.” Ned Stark. His uncle. His mother’s brother. His family. There was a beat of silence where Jon was sure the man was waiting on a reaction from his nephew, anything probably, but Jon stayed silent. If he had been looking up, he would have seen the quiet look of understanding that passed between Mormont and Ned. He would have seen the determination and pain in those gray eyes that looked so much like Jon’s own. But Jon did not look up.

“Come on in,” Ned said. Jon forced himself to straighten slightly and move inside without Mormont’s prompting. “Come to the kitchen, my wife has put out some drinks.” Nymeria followed after him and Jon let himself follow the dog. Mormont trailed confidently behind, wanting to get Jon settled before leaving for his next appointment. He owed it to the kid that was the complete and utter shitshow his last two placements had been. Jon let himself examine the hallways they walked through. The house was much larger than anywhere else Jon had lived and was more homey, too. Pictures were hung up on the walls and toys were strewn throughout the house. Jon obviously wasn’t going to be expected to keep up the same military precision that he was in Thorne’s house, but then again that would assume Jon being put on the same level as his uncle’s biological children. Jon shouldn’t make assumptions, they always ended up being mistakes. He should expect nothing. If he expected nothing, then nothing could disappoint him.

The kitchen itself was large and sunlit and all Jon wanted to do was shrink back. This was too open, too nice, too clean. Something was bound to go horribly wrong. However, when Ned Stark sat so did Mr. Mormont, so it was only logical that Jon followed. He ignored them as the two exchanged pleasantries and poured drinks. Instead, Jon allowed himself to become enraptured with Nymeria. She rested her head on Jon’s knees as he leaned down to scratch her back.

“I see you like dogs,” Ned said and Jon did his best to hold back a flinch at the unexpected sound. Forcing himself to look up, Jon nodded.

“Yes, sir.” Jon wouldn’t meet Ned’s eyes as he answered, looking past his face instead and focusing on the cabinet behind him. The cabinets were dark wood and like everything else in this house, it seemed to subtly promote wealth. Jon tried not to squirm at the thought. Money just meant they could hide their true intentions better. Ned, seeming to sense Jon’s hesitancy, just continued on with his speech which sounded painfully rehearsed.

“That’s good, we have five altogether. My brother, Benjen, breeds huskies and he never could say no to my kids. That one’s Nymeria, she belongs to my youngest daughter. The rest are out at the dog park running their energy out. We… we didn’t want to overwhelm you.” At his words Nymeria seemed to nod, pawing at Jon so he would start petting her again. “They’ll be back later, for dinner, but I thought it might be nice to give you a chance to get settled first.”

Ned let himself slow down and give Jon a moment to process and respond, watching the boy with hopeful eyes. This was Lyanna’s boy. His  _ nephew _ . Her  _ son _ . Watching him sit there, trying to fold in on himself, broke Ned’s heart. Jeor had warned him that Jon had been through a lot. He wouldn’t tell Ned what, exactly, the boy had been through, but the man could imagine. Jon actually looked much better than Ned had anticipated. He’d been told that the boy had spent the last two years lost from the system, completely on his own. Ned couldn’t imagine being alone at thirteen, let alone being homeless for two whole years. That it had happened to Lyanna’s boy… well, no more. Ned would take care of him now. 

“I could show you your room, if you’d like, Jon. You look tired.” Jon recoiled at the statement, despite Ned’s soft words. He made himself take a calming breath (that didn’t work as well as he had hoped) as Nymeria whined, nuzzling against his thigh in worry.  _ Smart dog,  _ Jon thought.  _ Too smart. _

“That sounds like a good idea,” Mormont agreed, nodding before standing up. “I’ll be taking my leave then.”

Ned smiled his disturbingly genuine smile and nodded. “Thank you so much, Jeor.”

“My pleasure, Ned. Please, just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” After addressing Ned, Mormont turned towards Jon with a sterner air.  Jon didn’t shrink back, but it was a near thing. “You’re a good kid, Jon,” Mormont said, “I hope for my sake and yours that we don’t see each other again, alright?”

Jon nodded tightly, trying to keep his emotions in check. Jon knew he was well and truly on his own now. Mormont might have been able to get him away from Slynt, but the man had proven how powerless the system could be after Craster. Now that Jon was with biological family, Child Protective Services couldn’t afford to worry about him anymore. Mormont might not have been much of an ally, but he had been  _ someone _ . Being left without that last tie made Jon’s stomach churn. He watched Mormont walk out of the kitchen and right out of Jon’s life and knew he hadn’t managed to disguise his fear when Ned smiled at him, bristlingly gentle.

Ned watched the boy who seemed nearly on the edge of a panic attack with worry in his eyes. Jon looked like he was being abandoned, not left with family. Ned wondered how long it would take for Jon to trust him, if he ever would.

“Do you want to go upstairs and see your room?” he asked, trying to prompt Jon out of his emotional revery. Jon didn’t feel confident enough to move, but knew it might be worse if he didn’t answer, so he gave a small nod.

The upstairs was much like what Jon had seen of the downstairs: larger than anything Jon had found himself in before, well-furnished, and obviously lived in. He tried not to be intimidated, but this entire situation was intimidating. Jon missed the apartment he had lived out of with Ygritte and Tormund. He missed the closeness, the hominess, the fact that he wasn’t scared  _ all the time _ . He missed Ghost. They passed multiple doorways before reaching the end of the hall.

“I’m afraid it’s not much, but we wanted to take you out to get new things,” Ned said, opening the door as he continued talking, “once you get settled.”

“Settled, yeah,” Jon agreed, his tone almost bewildered. The room was  _ huge _ . Jon had never been given this much space before, let alone being allowed to have it all to himself. “This is mine?” he found himself asking without really thinking. 

“Yeah,” Ned said. “Jeor told us that you probably didn’t have much so we put some of our older son Robb’s old clothes in the closet until we can take you shopping. Let us know if we didn’t give you enough blankets, it can get cold around here. Oh, and the bathroom is right down the hall. There’s a new toothbrush, shampoo, deodorant, and things on the dresser. We tried to think of everything…”

Jon let Ned’s voice fade out and reminded himself to  _ breathe _ . That surreal feeling from before felt like it was closing in on him, like this was all a dream instead of his new reality. Because it had to be. It had to just be a dream. No one was this generous, no one was this kind. Not without a price and by the gods, Jon didn’t want to know the price for this. His fingers tightened around the straps of his bag as he tried to articulate his thoughts. Jon, however, had not been much for words. His mouth had gone dry and each word felt like a beat of silence once he realized Ned had gone silent, waiting for a response. 

He swallowed hard, finally opening his mouth. “It’s fine, I… I have things. Already. You don’t-- thank you, but--”  _ Everything has a price _ , Jon thought. He thought about the pain of breathing through broken ribs, thought of Craster’s friends, of Sam and Gilly and Jon shouting “run.” He thought about keeping quiet, about keeping out of the house, he thought about how it had never been enough. A price. Always a price.

_ Breathe,  _ Jon reminded himself, and the word came out in Ygritte’s voice. Breathe. He could do this. They were family. They would be…. different. 

Ned watched Jon carefully, almost as if waiting for something to break. Jon had gone still, his mouth moving as if trying to speak but no words came out. The idea that the boy didn’t need clothes or a toothbrush, that he was fine with just the clothes on his back and the contents of a single duffle bag, settled in Ned’s chest and ached. This was Lyanna’s  _ son _ . 

“I’ll come and get you for dinner later, if that’s alright?” Ned asked. Jon just nodded, still rooted to the spot. It wasn’t until the heavy door closed behind him that Jon seemed to come back to himself. He wanted this to be different. He wanted it so badly, but some part of Jon wasn’t sure how to hope for that anymore. Instead, he just eyed the bed and thought about getting some sleep. Better to be well rested when it all went to hell than not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned reflects. Catelyn comes home. Robb and Sansa make a (brief) appearance. Jon naps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you sooo much for the amazing comments! Sorry for the late update, but life got a little hectic and I didn't get much chance to write. Hopefully, that's going to change now. I'm not 100% happy with this chapter and might come back to edit it later once I get more used to writing these characters. I wanted more Sansa, Robb, and Jon interactions in this chapter but didn't quite get there but I think the next chapter's going to start in Robb's pov so that'll help move things along. I hope you enjoy!!

Ned made his way back downstairs, Nymeria trotting loyally at his heels. Jon was obviously overwhelmed, growing pale and shaky as new information crashed over him like ocean waves. He was such a little boy, barely five and ten years old, but already looking so much older. Ned would give him a few hours to adjust and try to settle before he met the rest of the family. He had sent the three youngest with their Grandpa Tully to spend the night so it would only be Robb, Catelyn, and Sansa tonight. A smaller group and much less likely to gawk and put their respective feet in their mouths. Robb was just under a year Jon’s senior, and Sansa two years his junior. Before long enough, Ned was sure the boys would be thick as thieves, but if the past hour had shown him anything it was that they all need to proceed with caution.

He got to work making dinner, a simple chicken dish with a helping side of cooked vegetables. Easy to keep down and full of nutrients and vitamins. About the time he put the chicken on the grill, two more dogs came bounding into the house, followed swiftly by his children. Greywind and Lady trotted into the house and both quickly fell on their favorite vents, overheated and exhausted. No need to ask how the dog park went then. His wife, Catelyn, joined him on the porch while the kids got snacks and whatever else they pleased.

“Hey sweetie,” he said, leaning over to give Catelyn a quick kiss on the cheek. She leaned into the touch, wrapping her arms around him in a soft embrace.

“How’d it go?” she asked quietly, pulling away and taking a seat. Ned checked the meat over before setting a timer and sitting down next to her. He took a deep breath and tried to answer.

“It went… well,” Ned said eventually. “He’s a  lovely boy, Cait. A very, lovely boy.” Catelyn frowned as she watched Ned get lost in his revery. Catelyn didn’t want to sound harsh, but she didn’t entirely trust Ned’s perception at the moment. She knew how much he loved his sister, but she also knew he might be blinded by that. She just wanted to be prepared. Taking in a sixth child isn’t something they should do lightly, no matter how much Ned’s heart wanted to.

“I’m sure he is, but how did it go?” Cait asked again, more forcefully. Ned seemed to wilt every so slightly as he dwelt on the meeting.

“He’s sleeping right now. He seems very overwhelmed, which I don’t blame him. Based on what Jeor said his life has been a mess.”

“Ned, are you sure this is--” Cait began, but Ned cut her off.

“Yes,” he said, more harshly than intended. He took a moment, breathing deeply. Running fingers through his long, blonde hair, he said, “He’s Lyanna’s son, Cait. He should have been with us since the beginning and when I find out what happened, gods help those kept him from us, Cait!” Ned took another deep breath and Catelyn ran her fingers through his hair, gently shushing him. Ned swallowed down what sounded dangerously close to a sob.

“He’s… he’s just a scared kid. A scared, fifteen year old kid.”

“I know,” Cait said softly. She pulled gently at his wrist, untangling his fingers gently from his hair and entwining them in her own hand instead. “I’m sorry, Ned. I’m just worried.”

“I know, honey. I know,” Ned reassured her, finding comfort  in the fact that they were both lost in this new situation. They rested in the tender moment, but it didn’t last. Robb bounded onto the porch, Greywind only two steps behind him. Nymeria perked us as her brother ran into the yard, following him in hopes of playing. Robb didn’t follow the dogs though, instead sitting down at the table too. He popped open a can of soda and grinned at his dad.

“Is he here?” Robb asked, vibrating with his own excitement. As the oldest, Robb was ready to take a new sibling under his wings. He was also excited to have a brother who is closer to his own age. Robb loved his baby brothers, but Bran and Rickon were much younger and much less fun to play with.

Ned smiled at his son, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, he’s getting some sleep. He’s had a long couple of days so he’s going to be pretty tired over the next few days.”

“Yeah, but is he here? Can I meet him?”

“Soon,” Ned promised as he went to go check on dinner. “As soon as dinner’s ready. Now how  was school today?” Robb began telling a story that Ned was sure would end in trouble. He listened and tended to the chicken on the grill, checking it’s temperature. Catelyn had gone back inside to assist Sansa with her homework and Ned nodded towards her through the glass, sliding door.

“Can you bring me a plate? Dinner’s ready to come off the grill.” Cait nodded and ducked back into the house in order to return with a platter.

Robb grinned at Ned. “Can I go wake Jon?” he asked and Ned so desperately wanted to say yes. For the boys to meet and be friends as soon as possible, but Ned had seen the wariness in Jon. If he sent Robb, a stranger, even if just a boy, to get him Jon would be frightened which was the last thing they wanted. 

“Why don’t you get this chicken to the table and I’ll go wake our guest?” Ned said and Robb nodded, his flash of disappointment not quite dissipating, but fading as he busied himself with the task. Ned passed through the kitchen to press a kiss to his daughter’s head and swing an arm around his wife in an embrace. He needed his strength and a reminder of  _ family _ as they forged ahead with this new relationship. It wouldn’t be easy, but family was always worth it.

Ned reminded himself of that as he padded across the carpeted hallway before reaching Jon’s door. He knocked softly, but didn’t receive any response. After a moment of contemplation, Ned opened the door to check on his nephew. What he came upon when he reached Jon’s room was a sorry sight. Jon hadn’t gone through any of Robb’s clothes to change into something more comfortable, but instead curled into himself fully clothed. He was hugging his backpack like he was terrified someone was going to try and take it from him. His duffle was also within reach. Almost as if he could bolt upright and run at a moment’s notice.

What truly broke Ned’s heart, however, was how small the boy looked in sleep. He wasn’t large to begin with, painfully skinny and not all that tall, but in rest he didn’t puff himself up, didn’t cling to a facade. He just laid there, bare and vulnerable for all to see. Ned wished that at least Jon’s sleep would be restful, but even that didn’t seem to be in the cards. The boy’s face was twisted in pain be it physical or from a nightmare, Ned wasn’t sure. Jeor hadn’t warned them about any physical injuries, but it wouldn’t be too surprising if Jon had concealed something. Trust, even between Jon and his warden, was tenuous. Mentally, Ned moved the doctor’s appointment higher on their list of to-dos.

Watching Jon sleep, Ned thought about waking him up to eat but that would most likely be more counter productive than not. He would bring some food up for the lad in case he woke up and was hungry in the night, but it was best not to disturb him. Rest, Ned could assume, was a precious commodity to the boy and Ned wouldn’t steal any from  him. Quietly, he picked up a quilt that was folded at the end of the bed and placed it gently over the boy.

Jon didn’t wake, but his body flinched at the sudden weight, and Ned sighed. If he ever found who had hurt his boy… but that didn’t matter now. Jon was with them. And they’d show him what true family meant. Because family was always worth it, and Jon was family.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb explains family allergies. Jon feels guilty. Time to go to the mall!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for the wonderful comments!! They absolutely make my day. I hope you enjoy Jon and Robb this chapter, I promise the other siblings are going to show up next! Enjoy, and of your let me know what you think! <3

Robb tapped his fingers against the granite countertop somewhat impatiently. The past few days were a whirlwind. Robb had never wanted to skip school to badly before. All Robb wanted to do was spend time getting to know his new cousin, but he resisted the temptation of shirking his own responsibilities. Aside from his parents grounding him for all eternity, Jon wasn’t at home much it seemed. He was always being taken to appointments with doctors or other important people. And it seemed like whenever Jon  _ was _ home, he was asleep. Jon had been home for three days now and still had yet to join the family for a meal.

But the weekend was here and Dad had promised they would take Jon shopping. Which 110% meant ‘Mom’s going to drop you off at the mall-- go bond.’ Robb took in on as his personal mission to make sure Jon knew he was welcome here. So when Saturday rolled around, Robb tried to wait patiently in the kitchen for the other boy.

Dad had cautioned Robb against too much excitement, explaining that Jon had a shy nature and was easily overwhelmed. Robb had taken the words to heart. He didn’t want to scare his cousin, he wanted them to become as close as brothers one day. Robb knew he was a good older brother and reminded himself to rely on the instincts he had gathered with four younger siblings under his protection.

When Jon slunk into the kitchen at half-past eight, Robb gave him a friendly wave.

“Hey Jon,” Robb said. He wasn’t sure if he should introduce himself. This was their first proper meeting after all, but Jon had also been living with them for days now. Surely he knew their names? Before Robb could come to a decision, however, Jon spoke up.

“Robb… right?” Robb nodded, smiling brightly.

He hopped down from his stool where he had just finished his own breakfast and moved to shake Jon’s hand. Now that they were side by side, Robb found they were almost the exact same height. It was easy to see the relation this close up. They both had the Stark curls even if Robb had the red coloring he got from his mother and Jon’s own hair was black as night. Robb was a bit stockier, his shoulders already starting to fill out where Jon remained slender. He’d make a great addition to the rugby team, Robb was sure. Skinny as a whip and fast as a bullet.

“Want something to eat?” Robb asked. He began moving towards the cabinet to get out a glass for juice and a bowl for cereal. “We’ve got some cereal in the cabinet over there and we’ve got like three different kinds of milk in case you’re allergic.” He grabbed a jug of orange juice from the fridge and turned to pour a glass. It wasn’t until Robb was finished that he realized Jon hadn’t moved. Instead, he was watching Robb with a confused look on his face. Robb kept smiling however and pressed forward.

“Well, Rickon’s allergic to milk you see, so we have almond milk. But then Sansa’s allergic to tree nuts, so she gets soy milk because it’s better for her hair? I’m not sure, sisters are weird. And then Arya had her special strawberry milk which tastes  _ nasty,  _ but doesn’t tell her I said that. And then dad prefers organic anyways, and anyways, you want some milk?”

It was, perhaps, too much information about their dairy preferences, but if Jon was going to be family he should really understand the absurdity he had signed up for. As Robb talked he could see Jon getting closer and closer to laughter until he was smiling and letting out a quiet chuckle. Success!

“Why do you buy milk, then?” Jon asked. “The normal kind, I mean.”

“That is…” Robb paused, considering, “a really good question. I’ve no clue.” He moved towards the cereal cabinet and opened the doors, examining the selection. “Want some Cheerios? Mom likes boring cereal. Says it’s  _ healthy _ .” Robb screwed up his face, clearly showing his thoughts on the matter. Jon laughed again and Robb passed him the box. “Just normal milk for you?”

Jon nodded before taking the now full bowl of cereal and sitting at the kitchen table. Robb let him eat and drank from the glass of juice that Jon had either ignored or hadn’t noticed. Robb kept chattering to keep them from lapsing into silence, though Jon wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He was much more focused on the meal at hand which Robb understood.

Looking at Jon, Robb could see why this shopping trip had been at the top of his father’s list of “to-dos.” Robb had been raised not to judge, but some things were just plain to see. It was obvious that the jeans Jon wore had once belonged to a man who was much larger and taller than his cousin was and the black hoodie he wore had seen better days. The sleeves were worn and thin, the cuffs fraying badly at the edges. Robb wondered how many years Jon had been wearing it for it looked almost as ragged as some of Robb’s childhood toys.

(The answer was seven years. It was a hand-me-down from one of the older boys at Castle Black and had been shared between Jon, Edd, Pyp, and Grenn. It was in Jon’s backpack when his things had been packed up and moved from that first group home. It survived for two years with Craster under Gilly’s tender love and care. And then it had helped shield him (with varying degrees of success) against two, cold winters. It was a more constant companion to Jon than anything else except his own inner thoughts and it was much more comforting than the latter.)

Mom walked into the kitchen just as Jon finished eating. She was just back from dropping Arya and Bran at their little league soccer practice and would need to pick Sansa up from her dance lessons soon. Saturdays at the Stark household were a busy affair with five--now six--children to juggle along with their respective activities.

“Let’s go boys,” she said and Robb jumped up in his excitement. Jon, however, stayed very still. He seemed torn between staring at Mom and staring at his empty bowl, so instead his gaze landed on Robb. It was another strange look, full of uncertainty and if Robb didn’t know better, fear. He didn’t like seeing it on his cousin's face, so he made quick work of trying to wipe it away.

“Hold on a sec, we’ve got to do the dishes. The sink’s over here, Jon.” Robb grabbed his glass and waited for Jon to stand up and follow him towards the sink. Jon smiled at his cousin gratefully, and Robb reminded himself not to stray far from Jon at the mall. After all, new places were confusing and Robb was sure this was a confusing enough time for his cousin. Dad hadn’t told them much about where Jon was before, just that he was their family  _ now _ .

The pair followed Catelyn out to the car. Her heart swelled to see her son and his tender-hearted kindness, but at the same time, she worried. Jon had been with them for three full days now and they had done nothing to assuage her fears. The boy was sullen and skittish, clearly still adjusting to the new environment. Ned was quite taken with the boy, but Cait worried. Jeor had mentioned his spotty past and his tendency towards violence. Fighting is what got him kicked out of his first group home at only eleven, and all Cait knew about his second placement was that it involved the police and Jon ran before he could be held accountable. She knew he was just a child and she shouldn’t judge so harshly, but still. Robb was innocent and she didn’t want him getting caught up in these things.

Then again, looking at the boy in her backseat it was hard to picture him hurting anyone. Logically, she knew he was almost the same age as Robb and when they stood next to each other their height was quite similar, however, he seemed so much smaller. Dangerously underweight is how the doctor described it. Long term malnutrition prior to his teenage years. And he smiled very sweetly as Robb carried on about his latest football practice and Theon’s pranks.

It was in the silent moments though, where Cait remembered why she was so unsure. He might look young, physically, but his eyes held a much older age and a much larger darkness than any boy his age should possess.  _ Remain wary,  _ Cait reminded herself, even as pangs of guilt went through her heart.

She pulled the car to a stop in front of the mall and handed a written list and the family credit card to her son. It was times like this she was glad Ned’s job paid well.

“Stick to the list, alright boys?” she said, looking meaningfully at Robb. Knowing her oldest they were going to come home with a new videogame and no new clothes. Robb grinned impishly as he took the items.

“Promise, Mom!” he said, before jumping out of the van. He looked expectantly at Jon who hadn’t managed to follow suit. He was looking at Catelyn as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what.

She offered a smile to the boy in an attempt to be reassuring. Ned’s worrying about the boy’s insistence he was “fine” when he obviously wasn’t resounded in the back of her mind. “Go on then, I’ll be back to pick you two up in a few hours.”

Jon nodded and Cait thought she might of heard him say something, but his voice was so soft that the notion was gone as soon as it came. The next few hours were more fun than Jon could remember having in a while. Robb made things easy in a way that reminded him of the boys he grew up with under Thorne’s ‘care.’ As they hopped from shop to shop, Robb made Jon laugh so hard and smile so wide he almost forgot they were shopping for him. He would pile clothes of all different sorts for Jon to try on or just straight up buy without thinking and they spend almost thirty minutes in front of the phone case stand because Robb insisted one was necessary.

The fun, however, dissipated every time they approached the register. Jon knew the Starks had money, he just didn’t understand why they were spending it on  _ him _ . However, every time he protested Robb would shrug off his concern. “We’re family,” Robb would say, followed up with something clever or kind like, “and you need to wear clothes that don’t wear you.” The gentle ribbing was less biting than Ygritte’s sarcasm, but Jon found he liked it all the same. Robb’s humor helped keep the uncomfortable squirming in his belly at bay, but as they walked outside to wait for Ned to pick them up, the anxiety returned full force.

Sometimes, after Ygritte got paid for a job, or when Tormund finished a long-term contracted job, they’d think about ways to spend the money. In the end, it barely covered rent with enough for some food leftover, but it was fun to dream. If it had been a big paycheck, sometimes they’d go to the dollar store and buy Ghost a new squeaky toy and splurge on a tub of ice cream for less than 3.79, tax included. That was big for them. Looking at all the shopping bags, everything Robb had said he ‘needed’... it was insane.

Robb watched Jon worriedly. He was halfway through the story about the time he and Theon ended up attacked by chickens (which was always guaranteed to make  _ someone _ laugh) that he realized Jon wasn’t listening. Instead, he was just looking out, his facing doing that same confused, unsure expression from earlier. Sometimes Jon’s face went like that and it was almost like he was somewhere else and not really there at all.

“Jon?” he asked. Humor, Robb had found, could jerk Jon out of his thoughts most of the time. A well-placed quip that goaded him into responding, an anecdote about him and Greywind, something like that, but Jon looked even further off than he had before. Robb hadn’t known him long enough to know if this was normal, but it worried him. If Sansa was looking off into the distance like that, he’d know something was wrong. Jon seemed to startle at the mention of his name, but he didn’t look over at Robb. Instead, Jon studied his boots and wrung his old, weathered hoodie sleeves in his hands.

“You know I’m not like you and your family, right?” Jon said, after a few moments of long silence. Robb furrowed his brow in confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He tried to get Jon to look at him, but he seemed quite intent on mapping the cracks in the pavement.

“I’m a foster kid,” Jon said. “This is temporary.”

Robb balked at the sheer thought.  _ Family  _ wasn’t temporary. He was appalled Jon would even think so. What family could he have had before this that made him think so? They were  _ pack _ . “No it’s not,” he said, more determined. “Why would you say that?”

“You and your family… you’re very nice,” Jon said.  _ Too nice. And you’re too naive. The other shoe will drop, you’ll see. There’s always a price that I’m not willing to pay.  _ “But…”  _ But I’ve been kicked out or ran away from every home I ever had and none of them were as nice as this. _

“But nothing,” Robb insisted, “You’re pack now.”

“Pack?” Jon asked, now confused himself.

Robb smiled, knocking their knees together playfully. “Yeah, pack. Like a wolfpack. Dad says we have to look out for each other. ‘The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.’ You’re pack now, Jon. And pack  _ isn’t _ temporary.”

_ I’m the lone wolf,  _ Jon wanted to say.  _ I wasn’t made to survive.  _ Jon was made to endure, but not to survive. Survival implied there was something after. There was no  _ after _ for Jon. He had spent his whole childhood counting the years until he turned 18 and aged out of the system, or counting the days until the next social services visit hoping that  _ someone  _ would notice. Sooner or later the Starks would realize just what Jon was and leave him to endure. Jon could risk believing Robb’s words because he knew if he did, there would never be an  _ after _ . If he believed Robb, and he was wrong, it would shatter him in a way Jon wasn’t sure he’d ever come back from. He knew he didn’t deserve this, but that had never stopped Jon from  _ wanting _ before.

“I’ve never had a family before,” Jon admitted. “I don’t think I’ll be good at it.” ( _ There’s a reason your family didn’t want you, boy. _ ) Robb bumped his knee against Jon’s, and Jon didn’t dare look up. ( _ You think anyone would ever want  _ you _?) _

“Don’t worry,” Robb said, painfully sincere. “I think you’re gonna be just fine.”

Before either boy could respond, a honk startled them out of their conversation. Ned was waving at them from his truck and both boys started moving, carrying the various bags to the car. As him and Robb climbed into the backseat, Robb caught his eye and Jon couldn’t help but smile. Robb smiled back like he understood this was the only way Jon could think to say thank you.

Pack.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon prepares for school. Ned tries to be a Dad TM. Gendry shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Um... this chapter almost doubles the word count of the fic. Please don't expect them all to be this long, but this chapter just wanted to keep going and going so I let it run its course. I hope you enjoy it because work is heating up this week for me, so the next chapter might be a little bit later coming out. But I’ve already got a good chunk started! Don't worry, my muse won't shut up and I won't be stopping any time soon.
> 
> Warning for this chapter: it goes a bit more in-depth about the abuse Jon suffered in his previous foster homes so watch for the tags please. It’s all referenced in Jon’s nightmare and nothing is explicit. 
> 
> As always, thanks for your wonderful comments. You guys keep me writing!

Jon flipped the new phone that Starks got him between his hands. It was a lot nicer than the  pay-by-the-minute he had buried at the bottom of his backpack. A sleek, silver touchscreen that would break too easily if push came to shove. Still, it was _nice_. Too nice. It was already programed with Ned, Catelyn, Robb, and Sansa’s phone numbers. Jon had been instructed to keep it on him whenever he was out of the house, the first stern instruction he had received. _“In case you get lost or need us,”_ Ned had said, and Jon almost believed him. Almost. The man was sincere in a way that was hard to fake, but Jon had been fooled before. He thought of the way _he_ had spoken softly, touched him gently, and Jon hadn’t realized until it was too late, _too_ _late, too late_ \--- No, Jon was smarter than that now. He’d keep the phone on him, but Jon knew if anything happened it would be the first thing he’d ditch.

There was a reason Jon was so grateful for the phone though, despite the potential dangers, and that was because of the two phone numbers he had memorized and tucked away in the back of his mind. Ygritte and Tormund. Jon had been texting them almost daily, even if he always deleted the messages afterwards. The Starks hadn’t asked to check his messages yet, but it was better safe than sorry. Jon had lost enough friends, he wasn’t going to risk Ygritte and Tormund being taken away.

It was Ygritte’s phone number that Jon typed out now, knowing that Tormund was probably working.

_J: hey_

Jon sent before staring at the screen and waiting. It didn’t take a moment before the three dots popped up on the screen to signal that Ygritte was typing.

__Y_ : what’s up kiddo _

_J: school tomorrow_

__Y_ : nervous? _

Jon was more than nervous, if he was being honest. He hadn’t been to actual school since  seventh bloody grade and that was almost three years ago. It didn’t matter how excited Robb was to introduce him to his friends, or how cool he said some of the classes were. Jon was going to be even further out of his depth. Who knew what rumors would have managed to spread already, with a prominent family like the Starks? It didn’t bear thinking about. It would be what it would be, Jon knew. But still, that didn’t make the churning in his gut go away.

__J_ : yeah _

__..._ _

__the_  next person who says I’ve “done well” for my “situation” is getting punched _

Jon’s fingers ached as he remembered getting his test results back so they’d know where to place him. The test administrator had been the type of sleezy, condescending who thought they knew what Jon had been through. They didn’t. They were the same type of people who would’ve spat on him when he was begging for money on the streets, telling him he shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place.

Jon knew holding onto the anger did him no good, but he couldn’t help it. Anger was better than fear or nothingness.

__Y_ : papa bear says no punching _

came Ygritta’s reply and Jon laughed. Leave it to Tormund to try and keep Jon out of fights, like Jon couldn’t remember the man’s very own creative, drunken threats. He _missed_ Tormund.

__J_ : yeah, yeah, yeah _

Jon replied, knowing she could hear his eye roll. Ygritte got into more fights than Jon ever had, though to be fair she won more than Jon did too. Tormund had talked about turning her into a prized fighter, _Free Folk Gym’s_ very own star. Ygritte rolled his eyes when he talked like that, but Jon knew she liked the idea.

__Y_ : think they’d let you come over soon? sounds like you need a spar _

Gods, did Jon need a good spar. Or at least the chance to work over a heavy bag. He’d left the second-hand boxing gloves he’d gotten at the gym with Tormund. Could he… Jon wasn’t sure  if it would be a good idea. The gym was too far to walk and Jon wasn’t about to _ask_.

__J:_ idk. mormont said no contact. ‘clean break’ and all that bs _

__Y_ : and since when do you listen to him? _

Ygritte was right. If Jon was going to listen to Mormont, he wouldn’t be texting Ygritte right now. Mormont thought that getting him a clean break after Thorne would be good for him, but it just isolated Jon. Isolated kids are easy to corner, easy to get a foothold in that abusers knew how to take advantage of. Thorne _knew_ . Craster _knew_. Jon wasn’t willing to risk it again. Mormont wouldn’t like him staying in contact with Ygritte, and had probably passed those opinions off to the Starks as well. Sure, an ex-convict and a parolee didn’t look like good friends on paper, but there were a lot of bad people who looked too good on paper and took advantage of that.

Either way, Jon wouldn’t risk losing Ygritte and Tormund. They had saved him when everyone else had failed. And as much as the Starks said they cared about him, Jon had realized they had no idea what they had signed up for. They had five normal children and they wanted Jon to be much the same. ‘Normal’ children didn’t have friends up to six years their senior and spend time in the back of old gyms. Jon also, if he was being honest, wasn’t ready to give up the location of his best safe house when this all turned to shit. Even if Ned turned out to be  an actually, genuinely good person ( _oh,_ he said, _you believed me,_ and laughed, _silly boy, I’ll be gentle,_ like it was a favor-- Jon pushed those thoughts down, down, down, down and tried to breath--) it was only a matter of time before the nightmares got too loud, or Jon’s grades weren’t good enough, or any number of other things pushed them over the edge. Tormund’s gym was the safest place Jon knew, and it wasn’t on any of his records.

__J_ : idk _

__Y_ : lmk if we need to plot a kidnapping _

Jon smiled, warmth in his chest as he typed out his next message.

__J_ : will do _

__..._ _

__miss_ you _

Being honest with Ygritte had always been easy. Similar lives, she had claimed, and Jon knew she was right. Two kids running. She had been the one he had gone to with the nightmares at first, when Tormund’s size still scared him more than it was a comfort. He missed her the most during the nights when he woke up, shaking, wanting someone who understood.

__Y_ : go to sleep. u will kick (metaphorical) ass tomorrow _

_…_

_miss u 2 cub_

With that, Jon locked his phone and allowed something solid to settle in his chest. It was easier to believe things would be okay with Ygritte’s words in his ears. Easier to believe that _he_ would be okay. With renewed hope, or at least some hope at all, Jon began getting ready for bed. He looked at the bed (made that morning, military corners) contemplatively. He’d tried to sleep on it for the first few nights, but never managed more than an hour or two. It’s softness was overwhelming, almost suffocating. It wasn’t the Jon didn’t have a bed when he lived with Ygritte and Tormund, it’s just that there was a difference between a fold-out couch from Goodwill and a queen size bed so soft Jon was surprised it didn’t swallow him.

For the last few nights, Jon had begun pulling the comforter onto the floor and curling into it like a sleeping bag. He always remade the bed first thing in the morning, wary of being caught, though Jon wasn’t sure what they could punish him for. More likely, they wouldn’t punish him at all, which was almost as disconcerting. Jon was still trying to get their measure, and though talking with Robb had been a little more helpful, he was still confused. They’d been fairly straightforward with their house rules, but it seemed too easy. Thorne had loved to make rules and then not tell them so he could punish them, even if they didn’t know what for. Nothing was ever this straightforward, especially not when it was this simple too.

  1. Respect others, and they will respect you. Pertaining to both property and opinions.
  2. No fighting, resolve things with words, not fists. Always resolve things peacefully.
  3. Always ask for help, if needed. They are here to help them learn and grow.



All three rules were foreign to Jon, if he were being honest. He had expected things like military standard cleaning regimes, surprise searches whenever they liked, and endless work before being allowed meals. Not… this. Instead, the Starks seemed to be actively worried about Jon eating _enough_ . Part of that respect had included Jon’s right to his own room. They expected him to keep it tidy, but his space (supposedly) was _his_. He had every right to close the door -- which locked from the inside! -- and they would not trespass.

In return, they asked Jon to tell them if something was wrong. So far, it didn’t seem that they were lying. When Jon hid in his room during family meal times, not knowing how to face the other five children and deal with the closeness and conversation that would occur, they let him be. Ned brought him food after and tried to talk to him, but the patriarch seemed to respect Jon’s claustrophobia for the moment. Most of the time though, the entire family wasn’t present for the meal and Jon could get away with eating a sandwich with just Robb, or perhaps the youngest -- Arya. Tomorrow though, Jon knew he wouldn’t have much choice.

The five Stark children would be going to school, and Jon would be going along with them. He was the newest freshman at Westeros High School. It was a year behind where Jon was supposed to be, but it was further ahead than Jon had expected. His grades had never been the best and he had been failing when he left Craster’s in police custody and ran.

However, like how Jon would spend free afternoons outside of Thorne's house, the library was a refuge. There was no entrance fee, no need of purchase in order to stay inside where it was warm and dry. Librarians were the nicest people Jon had ever met. They let him sleep and didn't kick him out until they had too. When Jon has started looking for books to fill his time, they were always ready with a recommendation. Classical literature, history books, rudimentary explanations of sciences. Jon wasn’t stupid. He knew if he ever wanted to get anywhere, he’d need to work his way through a GED in the hope of getting a job when he got old enough. He was young now, but he wouldn’t always be. Ygritte and Tormund helped him as best they could once they scooped him off the streets.

There had been more than one night with Jon, Ygritte, and Tormund huddled around a second-hand math book cursing at the problems more than they were solving them. It wasn’t the best education, but it was more than Jon probably would’ve gotten anyways. It was enough to place him at an intermediate level in everything but math and literature. The Starks had made a deal that Jon would work with an outside tutor to help him keep up in those subjects so he could be placed in the highschool, instead of middle school. Put a fifteen year old in with a class of fourteen year olds, no one’s really going to notice. But him in with thirteen year olds? That was a mess in the making. And this way, Jon had Sansa watching out for him.

Jon tried to shove thoughts of school out of his mind as he settled down for the night, with minimum success. By the time Jon fell asleep, it was about as peaceful as the process of getting there had been. Sleep was never one of Jon’s strong suits. The paranoia that had seeped into his skin kept his mind from relaxing, subconsciously reminding him that while he lay prone he was unprotected. In sleep Jon couldn’t  defend himself from physical attack and he left himself vulnerable to too many memories. Each night was an assault for as long as Jon stayed under. If it were up to Jon, he wouldn’t sleep at all. He’d tried that for a while.

It hadn’t worked too well.

Tonight’s Jon’s mind found him wandering the halls of what the boys had deemed “Castle Black.” It was one of the largest group homes in the area and certainly the biggest house any of the boys had ever seen, hence the nickname “Castle.” They used the moniker “black” for the uniforms they were forced to wear. Prison uniforms provided just about as much individuality, but then again Thorne had always liked reminding them where they were likely to end up. Preparing them for the future, Thorne had said. All the other kids at school called them _crows._ Wild boys dressed up like wild birds.

Jon could see actual crows flocking to the trees outside of one of the windows as his feet padded against old hardwood flooring. It was past curfew, Jon knew. He should be in bed. But Jon’s feet kept moving him forward.

_Creak._

Jon froze, fear sprinting up his spine and stopping him in his tracks. Thorne would be angry. Thorne was _always_ angry. The creaking didn’t continue, however, and all Jon wanted to do was sneak back to his room, check on his brothers, and try to catch some sleep. Jon didn’t want Thorne to find him. He didn’t even want to be _here_ . His lip trembled just thinking about it. Thorne’s lessons _hurt_. At the very memory of pain, Jon’s previously numb senses flared to life until all he could feel was the pain. Pure and all consuming. Jon gasped, his hands going to his side as if to stop the feelings with his willpower and bare hands.

Jon’s eyes move without his consent and although the black clothing doesn’t show the blood, Jon could see shards of glass sticking out of his skin and wanted to faint.

_Oh._

Jon must have been going to the bathroom to take care of this. _It will hurt,_ Jon thought distantly, like it didn’t already set his skin on fire with the feeling. His body was burning with pain, tears forming in his eyes. Where was Jon going? This wasn’t the way to the bathroom. _What was he doing?_

The words repeat themself, becoming a mantra so strong that his steps finally ceased. _What was he doing? What was he doing? What was he doing?_ The words were almost strong enough to knock Jon’s feet from underneath him in the confusion and pain, but before he could crumple his eyes caught on something mysterious. Outside, more crows were gathering. They moved closer and closer, blocking out the dull sky and pressing in against. the windows like there was nothing there at all. Soon the birds themselves were the very walls, alive and rustling, although just as black as the previous interior.

One, small creature hopped forward and Jon found himself leaning down despite the pain. He offered his hand out to the bird, the pallor of his skin a sharp contradiction to the inky blackness of the bird itself. It’s eyes shone with knowledge and it’s beak glistened, though there is no light to highlight it’s dark sheen. The creature moved forward ever more cautiously before pecking at Jon’s hand almost gently. Soon, Jon is on his knees — rough wood against flesh _and when was Jon wearing shorts?_ — and more of the birds were approaching. The pain had faded into the background in the face of this anomaly until he felt the first, sharp _tug_ that caused his breath to hitch and become trapped in his throat.

The first crow has worked its beak around one of the shards of glass imbedded in his side. Jon watched, wide eyed and still unable to breathe, as the crow looks right into his heart and _pulled_. Jon tried to curl away, tried to scream, but it was too late. The crows were pulling at him,  crowding his vision until all he could see is black, black, black. All he could feel were their beaks against his skin, pulling at him and making him bleed all the more profusely.

Their shrieks of delight turn into all too human laughter and though the rustling of feathers faded away, the pain did not. Jon’s entire body was pain, felt even more keenly in contrast to the rough carpet pressing against his flesh. His clothes were gone now — taken by the crows or someone else and Jon wanted to _scream_ but his breath was _gone_.

The laughter was getting closer and Jon wished for the crows. Wished for the pain instead of this. Wished for an escape, but there was _darkness_ . Darkness _and pain—_

Jon wrenched himself from sleep and stumbled forward, his breath coming out in gasps as he pawed at the walls, trying to find the light switch. As light flooded the room, Jon collapsed. He pressed his back flat against the wall and pressed his hands deep into his scalp, pulling at his hair as if that pain could ground him in reality. He was okay— _he was okay—  he was okay— they couldn’t touch him anymore— he was safe—_ and Jon didn’t believe it. He couldn’t. All he can do is sit there and ride out the panic.

Jon was like that when Ned Stark knocked on his nephew’s door to wake him up for his first day of school. Ned saw the boy scramble to his feet at the sound of the creaking door and Ned felt his own breath shudder to a stop. The boy looked dead on his feet, the circles under his eyes deeper than when he first arrived. Ned knew Jon wasn’t settling in as well as he had hoped but it was disheartening to see his own flesh and blood in such a state. If it had been one of his own children, Ned would have rushed to their side, but Jon looked ready to shake apart. One wrong move and he could crumble. So instead, Ned put on a facsimile of a smile and tried to keep his tone even.

“Breakfast is ready downstairs. We’ll be leaving for school in half an hour.” Jon nodded, not really looking at Ned. The older man wanted so badly to go to Jon, but in a half-aborted movement forward Jon flinched away as if burned and Ned knew to make himself scarce. People had hurt his nephew. The doctor had all but confirmed a long and terrible history of abuse that had played out on Jon’s skin. He hadn’t been in the room for most of it, at Jon’s request, but the doctor had to keep him informed of the important parts. It was Ned’s right as Jon’s guardian and the best way to make sure the boy healed properly. Ned didn’t have to see the marks on his boy’s skin though, to know what had happened to him. It was written on his face just this, written in his obviously sleepless nights and instincts built on sheer terror.

Ned made his way back downstairs to man the kitchen and wait for Jon in order to make sure he ate something. The only thing worse than going to school on a bad night’s sleep was going on an empty stomach.

“Where’s Jon?” Robb asked, digging into his bowl of cereal. Ned was glad the two had become close, for Jon showed none of the fear he harbored against Ned to his son. Robb was already dressed and ready, having worked early in excitement for Jon’s first day, so he hovered by the table as Ned became waylaid by a screaming Rickon and roped into the hunt for Bran’s lost shoes. Catelyn had to take the younger ones to preschool and grade school respectively, so it was always chaos getting them out of the house on time. Sansa and Robb could take care of themselves and Robb was but one year too young to start driving his siblings himself. Add in the chaos of all five dogs and it was a recipe for disaster.

Once Ned helped Arya “I’m Old Enough to Tie my Own Shoes, Dad!” keep her lacing from getting tied together, he returned to the kitchen, satisfied to see Jon sitting at the table as Robb chatted relentlessly. Though as Robb looked up at his father, Ned could see his own son was troubled by Jon’s turmoil.

“—anyways, I can’t wait for you to meet Theon. He's got a sister who’s going to be in your classes! Yara’s the _best_ , although I don’t think she likes me.”

“Yara doesn’t like anyone,” Sansa put in, causing Robb to roll his eyes.

“She likes _you,_ ” he said and even Robb laughed at the way his sister screwed up her face, nearly offended.

“Come on kids, time to get in the car.” Ned grabbed the car keys as Robb shoved a last bite of cereal into his mouth and Sansa gathered up her backpack. Jon clung tightly to his new school bag. He still looked exhausted, but in new jeans and a fresh, a soft, grey zip-up, layered over a muted red t-shirt helped Jon look better than he had half an hour before. His face was washed and his hair brushed, if pulled back in a rather untidy bun. It didn’t help him look any less scared though, as he trailed after Robb. As Ned looked back to make sure they had gotten everything, his heart sunk at the sight of a full plate of food where Jon had been sitting. _Too late now_ , Ned thought, but reminded himself to make sure Jon came down for dinner to eat. Maybe it was time he tried to find the boy a therapist, like the doctor had suggested…

The drive was uneventful, though animated as Sansa and Robb argued — sorry, _discussed_ — which radio station they should listen to for the fifteen minute drive. Unlike he normally would, Ned found a parking spot. They walked into school together, Jon sticking close to Robb’s side. Sansa reached up on her tippy toes to give her father a kiss on the cheek goodbye before running off, but Robb was reluctant to leave their side, even to go join Theon.

“I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” Robb said, some of his worry showing through in his still-water blue eyes. “Text me you’re schedule and I’ll meet you by your class.” Jon nodded, holding up his phone.

“Promise,” he said. Robb reached out for a final fist bump, which Jon returned with only some confusion before hurrying away, looking back a few times before rounding the corner towards the lockers.

Alone with the boy, Ned could see how tense he was. He wished he knew what to say to help him relax, to reassure him, but Ned was clueless. He was a ship adrift in a sea, desperately hoping for a lighthouse to guide both him and Jon home safely.

“I can take you to the office. Make sure you get checked in all right and everything?” Jon nodded and together they walked to the office. Jon was always a half-step behind Ned, holding himself so stiffly Ned was surprised his spine didn’t snap. Jon kept the rigidness as the secretary went to go get his welcome packet and call his student guide to the front. She left them alone in the front office and Ned knew if he was going to say something, he should say it now. He might not have the right words, but he couldn’t leave Jon here looking like he was marching to his death instead of into the halls of his new high school.

“Jon…” Ned said, knowing this might be the wrong thing but saying it anyways. Jon looked up at him, startled and stark white. Jon’s eyes were so grey, so soft, just like Lyanna’s. Ned wanted to put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, but refrained, instead he settled for looking deep into his eyes to convey his sincerity.

“You’re safe here. I don’t know how to help convince you of that, or if I even can, but you are _safe_. If you need anything, just let us know. If anything is wrong, please tell us. We might not be able to fix it, but we’ll sure as hell be able to help. I don’t care if you just need new pencils or… or if you want to talk about the nightmares. We will always be there for you, Jon. I will always be there.

I’m just a phone call away. And if today is too much, or you just want to leave, just come back here and call me. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Ned hoped he sounded reassuring, instead of as painfully earnest as he sounded to his own ears. Jon swallowed deeply, blinking away emotion in his eyes as he tried to shutter it away. Still, Jon’s body seemed to relax, if only minutely. Jon had _heard_ him, even if he didn’t _believe_ him. It had to be enough.

Jon blinked quickly, not wanting to show his weakness in front of this man. He was so damned _confused_ more than anything else. What Mr. Stark didn’t understand is that Jon wasn’t ready for any of this. School and family and _a life_. Jon knew what a chance this was, he just didn’t know how to trust that it wasn’t a lie.

Jon knew— he _knew_ that Mr. Stark was a good man. But there was a difference between knowing and believing. Still, he tried to muster up a smile for his uncle. Families didn’t want a broken investment and Jon knew Ned could see his cracks that were starting to show. He might not like the Starks, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be rejected _again_. Family, even family Jon didn’t know how to trust, was something Jon never let himself think about before. Now that he had it, no matter how confusing, he didn’t want to give it up.

“Thank you,” he said, his hands shaking in his pockets but his voice remaining steady. “I will, Mr. Stark. I’ll… I’ll try.”

By the smile his uncle gave him, it was enough. Jon let his shoulders relax and wondered if the man was going to lean in and try to hug him. He hoped he wasn’t, but some small part of Jon thought…. wanted…

Jon shook his head. It didn’t matter. Soon enough the woman was back and with her an older looking boy with shorn brown hair and calloused hands. Mr. Stark made his leave and the woman handed Jon a packet full of papers he was most likely going to lose before the day was over. The older boy introduced himself as Gendry. He was older than Jon, sixteen and a freshman like Jon. Without talking Jon felt a kinship there. There was a roughness to Gendry that boys like Robb lacked. Boys that believes that the world was a good place. People like Jon and Gendry knew it wasn’t.

“Foster kid?” Gendry asked without preamble as he showed Jon how to open his locker. He grinned at what Jon was sure had to be an amusing face he was making. “What?” Gendry said, laughing. “The only time they ask me to show a newbie around is when we get new fosters. Takes one to know one.”

Jon smiled in understanding and gratitude. He wondered how many schools Gendry had transferred between, how many families he’s been through. Jon was glad he didn’t seem to have ‘foster kid’ tattooed on his forehead at least, though he doubted it would be long before the rumor spread. Based on the looks they were getting, Gendry was known which means Jon would be too. He found he didn’t much mind the idea of them talking about him as much as he minded the sheer claustrophobia of being surrounded by so many bodies. The inescapable, unavoidable touches between students rushing from class to class set Jon on edge and made his skin prickle. Most of the crowd had already passed, starting their first class Jon knew. He wondered just how bad it was going to get.

“You’ll get used to it,” Gendry said, sensing Jon’s foreboding.

“You sure about that?” Jon asked, letting his uncertainty show through knowing he was with someone who understood.

“Yeah, it does,” Gendry said. “Come on, I’ll show you to your first class. Help you get to know the shortcuts.”

Gendry dropped him off right before the second passing period began after showing him the basic ins and outs. Jon was still shaky with uncertainty, but it would have to be enough. By the time the bell rang Jon would truly be on own. He swallowed hard, texted Robb, and hoped for the best. It was all he had.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who’s wondering, there won’t be any scenes involving the sexual abuse in the fic, but please be careful and take care of yourself. Always feel free to message me for more in-depth trigger warnings!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Arya bond until an unfortunate accident sends Jon running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I thought last chapter was the chapter that wouldn't end! I can't thank you guys enough for your patience and your wonderful comments! Work finally settled down, along with my personal life, so hopefully, we'll be back to roughly a week in between chapters instead of this. Being an adult kind of sucks. 
> 
> Again, heed the tags and if you need any more in-depth warning please just message me! Also if you ever want to contact me outside of ao3 my email is beewritesfic@gmail.com. I'm no longer active on Tumblr so that's the best place to dm me.

Jon, Arya had decided, was _awesome_. The pair had met on a serendipitous Wednesday afternoon almost a full week after Jon’s initial arrival. Arya had only managed peaks of her cousin so far. _Robb_ had been hogging him all week and even Sansa said Jon was nice. By Wednesday Arya was determined to see for herself. So that afternoon she waited, perched precariously down the hall so she could see whenever Jon decided to venture out of his room. Nymeria patiently laid in wait with her as an integral part of The Plan. 

She would just go knock on his door, but Dad. had said a lot of stuff about privacy and “respecting personal space.” He wore his Serious Face when he said it too, so for now Arya waited. Anyways, this was _much_ more fun.

It wasn’t long until his door finally creaked open and Arya was able to launch her plan into action. Launch meant quite literally in this case. A yellow tennis ball soared through the air and bounced down the hall.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

And then, at Arya’s signal, Nymeria bounded after it.The tennis ball put her on a perfect path collision course and she ran right into Jon with a tackle that would make Robb proud.

“Sorry!” Arya said, scrambling to help her cousin to her feet. She was, of course, not sorry at all. This was all part of The Plan.

Jon huffed out a laugh as the younger Stark girl came into view. He dug his fingers deep into Nymeria’s fur as he sat up. The dog in question proudly held the tennis ball in her maw. She had managed to catch it despite the confusion and was quite pleased with herself. Jon had left his room to get a break from his maths homework, hoping to get a glass of water. This, however, seemed like a much better distraction.

He had met Bran and Rickon briefly in passing, neither caring much for Jon one way or the other. Rickon was much too preoccupied with being four years old and Bran had barely stayed still long enough for Jon to say “hi” before he was running outside to play with his friends. Not that Jon had minded, his head seemed full enough lately with school and Robb to think about the youngest Starks.

Arya, however, did not seem content to be ignored any longer.

“Hello,” Jon. Said, petting Nymeria with one hand and waving slightly with the other.

“Hi,” Arya said. “You’re Jon.”

“Aye,” he replied. He was. It was hardly the worst thing he had been called, after all, it was just his name.

“I’m Arya. Nymeria wants you to play with us.” As if to emphasis her owner’s point, the husky dropped the now slobbery tennis ball directly into Jon’s lap and stared at him. Her intelligent eyes made it very clear of her intention. Jon felt his mouth twitch up into a half-smile as he pushed Nymeria off in order to get to his feet. 

“Lead the way,” Jon said, standing up with the tennis ball in his hand. Arya’s face lit up with childish glee and she raced down the stairs with. Nymeria, and now Jon, at her heels.

Jon had always gotten along well with kids. Being around Arya reminded him of this. Kids were easy in a way that adults weren’t. They rarely played the same type of games, chasing. instead to say what they mean and mean it. At eleven, Arya was just old enough to have fun, but could still be waylaid when awkward questions arose. Jon found he didn’t mind so much when Arya was the one asking the questions, which was good because she had many, many questions up her sleeves.

“Where’d you live before?” Arya asked, taking her turn to toss the ball for Nymeria to fetch. They were in the backyard. A beautiful, fenced in grassy area that went on for longer than Jon could imagine. It was like a miniature dog park in their own backyard. A good toss could keep Nymeria running, her long legs stretching to close the distance as soon as possible.

“With some friends,” Jon replied. It was enough of the truth that Jon didn’t feel bad about lying, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

“That’s so _cool_. I spent the weekend with my friend Meera once and it was _awesome_. Was it like a giant sleepover, but like, forever?”

Jon nodded his agreement as Nymeria dropped the ball at his feet. Before he could even throw the ball Arya moved onto the next question. She asked about everything from Jon’s favorite movie— _Star Wars_ , Jon said, though he’d never seen them. They were Sam’s favorite—to his favorite sports team, for which Jon didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t even sure what their city’s team was. 

“Where’s your mom and dad?” Arya asked, and even though Jon knew this question would come up eventually, it still made him freeze. Mechanically, he completed tossing Nymeria the ball and tried to think of an answer. He doubted the truth, for all Jon understood it, would go over well. _I’m the son of your dead aunt who I still know nothing about? No one’s mentioned my father and I’m too afraid to ask?_ There was no good answer to that question. 

“I don’t know,” Jon finally said, leaning down to grab the tennis ball from Nymeria upon her return. After all, it was just the simplest version of the truth. Jon waited for… something, but if it was judgement he expected, Jon would be sorely disappointed. Another reason Jon liked kids is that they didn’t judge, not like kids his age did, except perhaps by Jon’s opinions on soccer. Arya’s offended gasp when Jon had simply shrugged when asked about the sport was enough to halt mid-game of fetch in order to rectify this egregious error.

“I’m getting my soccer ball,” she said and without wasting a moment, his cousin was gone. Jon pet Nymeria between the ears while he waited for her return, reminded why he always got along better with kids than anyone his own age. They didn’t judge and they didn’t play game like adults did. They said what they wanted to say and they meant it. It was refreshing to be with someone who didn’t want Jon to be an example and only cared if Jon knew how to kick a soccer ball well enough to be a decent match. 

Jon, it turned out, was absolutely rubbish at the sport, but made up for in by inventing a new game that involved Nymeria too. Keep away was a game best played with more than two people, but when your opponent turned out to be a giant husky it became much more entertaining. It felt like Jon and Arya had to have been playing for hours by the time clouds started to gather, darkening the once blue-gray sky to a gun-metal darkness that covered everything. Jon shuttered, wanting quickly to get inside. He’d seen storms like this before and being so close to winter it didn’t take much to edge them away from rain, snow, or even to hail. Before Ygritte and Tormund, rain like this would send him running to the nearest library if he was lucky, or do find shelter as best he could if he wasn’t. Old instincts died hard and it only made sense to get in before the rain started falling. 

He whistled, brining Nymeria to a stop, despite Arya’s pout. “Come on, it’s going to start raining soon,” Jon said. 

“But mud is fun!” Arya countered and Jon couldn’t help but smile, even while shaking his head. 

“Come on, before it gets cold,” Jon said, and after a moment, Arya relented. She had also been caught up in the game, but now that they were no longer running she felt the cold November air nipping at her. Brushing the dirt off her now thoroughly stained jeans, Arya followed her cousin back inside. She rummaged around the cabinets while Jon took the time to clean Nymeria’s paws. 

“You want a snack, Jon?” Arya asked, already expecting him to say yes and hoping he wanted cookies. Arya wasn’t supposed to eat cookies before dinner but Jon was a _guest_ so if he wanted cookies, that meant she could eat the cookies too. The truly important thing was the cookies were Oreos, which were the best. 

Jon took one look at Arya’s puppy dog eyes, almost as lethal as Nymeria’s, and nodded. At his little cousin’s instructions, he went to go get glasses for milk. It took him a moment to remember _which_ cabinet he needed to look in and in that moment the clouds seemed to open up and the rain began. Jon’s instincts had been right. This storm was going to be a rager. Sure it was only raining now, but soon the water would be falling down in sheets large enough to raise the small lakes and rivers in the area, and as always, storms like this were always followed closely by  lightning and thunder. By the time Arya got the cookies down and Jon had finished pouring theglasses, the first batch of thunder shook the sky and it was all Jon could do to contain his flinch. He wasn’t scared of thunderstorms, he _wasn’t_ , but that didn’t mean he liked them either.  

Arya, it seemed, also wasn’t a fan. She was less adept at hiding her reactions, but there was clear fear in her eyes even if she didn’t want to admit it. 

“It’s alright,” Jon said. Sam used to be scared of storms like this too. Arya responded with a glare, albeit without heat.

“I know it’s alright. I’m not a baby. I’m _eleven_.” Jon had still been with Thorne at eleven. _Stop it,_ Jon thought as another bought of thunder shook the air. _You’re not there._

“Of course,” Jon said instead, trying to draw himself back to the present. “Come on, we should probably do our homework. Your parents are going to be home soon.”

“Snack first,” Arya said and Jon sat down as she pushed a paper plate full of the chocolate and cream cookies. In return, he sat one of the glasses of milk next to her. The storm started to build up speed as Arya continued to talk, this time about school and her friends Lyanna Mormont and Shireen. Jon let himself get lost in the prattle as a distraction from the storm, smiling and nodding at the right times and becoming invested in the politics of the fifth grade.

Still, it wasn’t enough to keep the peace it seemed. Jon had just gotten up to get Arya another glass of milk when a few circumstances depended upon the teenage at the most unfortunate time. 

Thunder _crashed_.

Jon _flinched_.

Glass _shattered_.

Suddenly, Jon was no longer in the Stark’s kitchen. The walls of Castle Black crowded around him in suffocating closeness. The walls were second only to Jon’s fear in terms in terms things rendering him motionless. A voice — Gilly? What was she doing here? No _no no_. He had to get her out of here. _He_ had to get out of here.

“Jon? Are you okay?”

It was a stupid question, Jon knew. Broken glass would be the least of his problems when one of Craster’s daughters found him. They weren’t all as forgiving as Gilly.They’d he’d tell Craster and then… Jon’s chest constricted at the thought of what his clumsiness had cost him last time. ( _Dark, dark, the closet was so dark and his entire body throbbed with the beating—someone special is coming over tonight, Craster said, laughing—and Jon cried much to the man’s pleasure_ ) Feet were crashing down the stairs and Jon flinched, his head meeting with hard wood of the cabinet.

He knew he should move forward and start picking up the glass, but he didn’t want the sharp pain that he knew would follow. Jon didn’t want it to hurt. Still, he felt his fingers fumble with the glass even as his breath hitched in a meager attempt at placating _someone_.

“Jon!” Another voice shouted. Scared and panicked. _Run,_ Sam begged him, a phantom whisper in his ear. “—stop! Jon, stop—“ Sharp stinging on his finger tips and the tell-tale feel of his blood mixing with the mess he already made and simply making matters worse.

 _Run,_ Jon thought. It wouldn’t protect him in the long run, but it would save him for now. _For now_ was all that mattered. Rain hit Jon’s skin as soon as he managed to scramble his way outside, but Jon ignored it, too caught up in his flashback to be thrown into another one. All he thought about was putting one foot in front of the other because every step was away from that house. Away from Craster and the fear and everything that came with his punishments.

Despite the weather, the act of running had always been calming to Jon. Maybe because running, while it didn’t always lead to safety, almost always lead away from something worse. He wasn’t sure how long he had been at it when he let himself stop beneath a bus stop.

 _You’re not there,_ Jon reminded himself, _not anymore_.

Anything was better than Craster’s, which is why Jon had run in the first place. But at least there, Jon had known what sort of fucked up sentence awaited him at the end of over screw up. His uncle was still a mystery, one Jon was no where near figuring out.

If he had been smart, he wouldn’t have run. This would have been a good time to get Ned’s measure, but now it would be even worse. This wasn’t Jon’s careful calculation of risk in learning what boundaries he could push, this was just a reckless mistake.

 _Breathe,_ Jon reminded himself, to honed in on the sound of rain slamming against the metal overhanging. _He isn’t Craster. He wouldn’t—_ but Jon was long past the ‘would’s and ‘wouldn’t’s of humanity. After a few moments of shaking in the precious silence that Jon realized his pocket was buzzing.

 _Of course,_ he thought, _the phone._

He should feel guilty, Jon knew, when he looked down at the mass of worried texts Robb had sent him, but Jon couldn’t muster up the feeling. Robb didn’t understand. Not like Jon did. He was Ned’s _son_. Sure, the man would never hurt his true born children, but Jon was different.

Still, he should go back. Face the music. Running didn’t solve anything. It was a lesson Jon had learned a long time ago, even if it never stuck like it should have. Jon wanted to allow himself the allusion for just a moment that he could keep running. Lying to himself was dangerous, Jon knew, but he was past caring in that moment. All he wanted was Ghost’s fur under his fingers and Tormund’s booming laugh. He wanted to go _home._ If just for a moment. If just to let himself believe it would be okay.

He called Ygritte as soon as he stopped to catch his breath. As the phone rang and rang in his hand Jon counted backwards from one hundred, taking a deep breathe on each integer of four. It kept his mind off the sound of shattering glass and the memory of skin hitting skin. Somewhere in the back of Jon’s mind someone was crying out as a fist struck flesh and he wanted nothing more than for the entire world to stop spinning.

Ygritte’s voice on the other end of the line was a saving grace. A lifeline. Jon begged himself to not take it for granted. Ygritte herself answered the phone without hesitation and a decent amount of concern. Jon rarely actually called, choosing the text instead. It was easier to hide and harder for people to overhear or, in that case, oversee. And so while Ygirtte didn’t _want_ to believe something was wrong, she also wasn’t stupid.

“Hey cub,” she said. She was careful to keep her concern out of her voice, choosing to sound as carefree as she always did. It was a persona she had adopted when she had been Jon’s age to cope with the mistakes she had made and the choices she. had convinced herself she had to live with.

“Come pick me up,” Jon said without preamble. “I’m at bus stop 55, blue line. Please, Ygritte.”

 _Please._ That more than anything made Ygritte reach for her car keys. Jon knew how much she hated that word. How much she hated begging.

“Give me five. Stay put, okay? I’ll be there before you know it.”

Jon’s breathing was harsh on the other end of the line, like he had been running. Or he had had a panic attack. Probably both. He wouldn’t say, but Ygirtte was worried that his attacks had increased since he moved in with the Starks. He couldn’t afford to see a professional therapist, but Ygritte got information and advice from her court-appointed one. Putting him in a new place so soon after Jon had started feeling a sense of safety was a bad plan, but neither Ygritte or Tormund could keep Jon from his legal family.

They didn’t have the money or the resources to fight for custody, although they would have tried if Jon had wanted that. No, the Starks could offer him more than just a sense of safety and a future working two jobs just to make ends meet. They could offer him stability, a future. It had been a coincidence, a fluke even, that Jon had been identified and his biological family found.

There had been a break-in at _Free Folk’s Gym_. Ygritte and Tormund were the ones who discovered it before the morning shift. Jon liked to spend the morning at the gym helping them clean up and working out himself, before spending the afternoon at the library, so he had been with them. Tormund had called Detective Seaworth, the only cop who seemed to give a damn about them in this city, and went about cleaning up the mess that they could before the detective got there. Everything had changed after Seaworth got there though. His well-trained eyes hadn’t been drawn to the broken glass or the trashed room, but instead went directly towards where Jon was sitting on the front desk, flipping through his new history book.

Ygritte cursed under her breath as she searched for the keys. She kept the phone tucked under her chin so Jon knew she was still on the line, not wanting to hang up in case anything happened.

“Want me to bring Tor?” she asked, already knowing the answer but also not wanting to surprise him.

A beat. “Yeah.” Another beat. “Ghost?”

In response Ygritte let out a sharp whistle. A big ball of white fur that someone else might have mistaken for a stuffed animal or possibly a misshapen rug popped her head up at the sound. Shaking out her fur, Ghost jumped off the couch and trotted up to. Yrgitte.

“Find the keys, Ghost,” Ygritte said. While the dog sniffed out the car keys, Ygritte gathered up her leash. It was hardly a minute later that the wolfhound trotted up to Ygritte holding the keychain between her teeth.

“Good girl,” Ygritte crooned and she could hear Jon’s soft laughter. It was almost drowned out by the sound of the rain, but not quite. “We’re on our way, cub.” Jon hiccuped out a thank you that she didn’t quite hear. Not that it really mattered. She would see him soon and make sure he was alright.

Once Ghost was leashed up and the keys were in her pocket, she walked out of the backroom and knocked on Tormund’s door.

“Come on,” she said, when the burly redhead looked up. “We’re picking up Jon.”

Tormund and Ygritte had rarely disagreed on anything. They were cut from the same cloth, those two. And there was nothing they agreed on more than how much they loved Jon. Tromund was up like a shot, taking the phone from Ygritte’s hands and trying to coax words from Jon in his silence.

Tormund was a big man and a past violent offender. People looked at him and they thought _biker gang_ and they thought _dangerous_ and they thought _stay away._ Other people, in Ygritte’s opinion, were stupid. The real Tormund was a fucking marshmallow, even more so than Ghost who. actually resembled the sweet treat.

Five minutes later, Ygritte was pulling the truck up next to the bus stop and looking desperately around for Jon. He was huddled up under the awning, just like he had told her. He looked soaked through, but not hurt. _Thank the gods,_ Ygritte thought, but looks could also be deceiving.

As soon as Jon looked up, Tormund voice in his ear letting him know that they were there, he wasted no time hurling himself into the backseat. Ghost was waiting for him there in all of her furry glory. Ghost nosed at her owner, who quickly buried his face directly into her long coat and breathed in her scent. Wet dog had never smelled so good to Jon. He couldn’t tell you how long he sat there with his fingers clutched in Ghost’s fur and letting himself listen to Ygritte and Tormund’s breathing before he finally looked up.

Ygritte was looking back at him, in all her fierce glory. Worry strained at the edges of her eyes as she took him in, looking for injury or worse. Tormund was just the same and Jon reluctantly moved away from Ghost to wrap both of them in a more-than-slightly-awkward hug. They met halfway over the consul, but none of the three truly minded. It felt so, indescribably good to just be back in their presence that Jon felt his breathing even out despite the fact that he was just prolonging the inevitable. With Ygritte and Tormund here, the inevitable felt a lot less daunting.

“There you are, little cub,” Tormund said. His voice was booming in the small cab of the truck and Jon grinned.

“Hey, Tor” he said, wistful in way he didn’t quite comprehend. When they finally pulled out of the hug Ygritte’s hands immediately went to his own. They still stung from the shallow cuts from the glass, but at least had almost stopped bleeding.

“Take the wheel, Tor,” Ygritte ground out before exiting the truck to get into the backseat with Jon and Ghost. Tormund just nodded his assent before reaching into the glove box and pulling out the first aid kit before he moved to the driver’s seat.

“What happened?” Ygritte asked. Her tone could not be described as gently, for hardly anything Ygritte did was _gentle._ She was fire-light fierce in a way that Jon had never known before. She was a glowing ember that refused to be snuffed out and could easily be transformed into a formidable blaze. She wasn’t anything like Craster’s daughters, who ranged from desperate and angry to demure and silent. She was loud and brash in a way that Jon knew was safe.

He told the story haltingly, though there wasn’t much to tell. “I just don’t want to go back yet,” Jon finished as Ygritte put another bandaid around his fingers. The antiseptic burned, but not badly enough that Jon minded.

“Do you want to go back at all?” Ygritte asked. This was better than she had imagined. Mr. Stark hadn’t hurt Jon, he had just gotten scared and ran. It was a response Ygritte and Tormund were more than familiar with. And yet, there was no promise that hurt wasn’t coming. Tormund shot her a look, always the more level headed of the two. Logically, Ygritte knew they couldn’t just _take_ Jon, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t willing to try.

Jon shrugged and returned his attention to Ghost instead. Jon didn’t want to think about the Starks. He didn’t want to think about the phone in his pocket which hadn’t stopped buzzing. He was reluctant to look down at the screen, but he needed to in order to find the answer to Ygritte’s question.

The screen was filled with missed call notifications and more texts than Jon could read through. He ignored the urge to shove the phone away and ignore it completely. Instead, with Ghost and Ygritte by his side, he found the bravery to begin scrolling through. 

 

**_Robb:_ ** _Jon? Call me back. You’re scaring me._

**_Robb:_ ** _Please Jon? You’re not in trouble._

**_Ned:_ ** _Please call me, Jon. I just want to know that you’re okay._

_( 2 Missed Calls From_ **_Robb_ ** _)_

**_Robb:_ ** _I don’t know what happened but Arya’s scared. She wants to know if you’re okay._

_( 3 Missed Calls From_ **_Ned_ ** _)_

**_Ned:_ ** _Whatever happened, we can talk about it. You’re not in trouble._

**_Ned:_** _Please come home. It’s okay._  
 ****

The Stark’s house wasn’t home. Not yet. But Jon still wanted to give it a chance, even if that scared him more than anything else right now. 

“I don’t want him to hurt me,” Jon admitted. His voice was deathly quiet, a shameful admission when Jon knew he had no basis for his fear yet. His life seemed to swing rapidly between panic and paranoia with. only subtle glimpses of the truth he struggled to hold onto.

“Do you remember what we said?” Tormund asked, trying to draw Jon out of his revery and back into the conversation. His voice was rough as always, but his eyes were soft. Tormund was only 23, Jon knew, but he always seemed so much older. So much more steady.

“That I would try this,” Jon remembered. It had been his choice. They had offered to fight for him, to hide him, with the same intensity that they promised that no one would ever hurt Jon again. _Family,_ Jon remembered thinking and looking down at his phone screen he knew why.

“You did the right thing tonight, Jon,” Tormund reassured him, a calloused hand reaching back to cup his cheek. “If you get scared or you get hurt, you call us and we’ll be right there.” Ghost whined in agreement, rubbing her snout against Jon’s arm to coax him back into petting her. _Gods,_ Jon missed her. Turning to look at Ygritte, he saw the same determined truth in her eyes.

“You’re _ours,_ ” Ygritte said, like a promise. They didn’t break promises, these two red heads with just as many scars as Jon.

Jon nodded. In an answer, he picked up his phone cautiously and typed out a message to Robb.

J: _I’ll be back soon. I’m okay._

“Can we drive?” Jon asked as he tucked the phone away. “Please?”

“Of course, cub,” Tormund said. Ygritte stayed in the backseat and Tormund started up the truck. They weren’t driving anywhere in particular, just driving somewhere that wasn’t there for a time. Jon would be going back, but that didn’t mean he wanted to let go of Ghost just yet. Instead, he let himself get lost in Ygritte’s off-key singing and Tormund’s laugh. But eventually, Jon knew they had to go back. The red truck pulled back up to the bus stop slowly and Ygritte and Tormund both looked at him in silent question. Jon nodded, swallowing hard and hugging Ghost extra tight.

This memory would need to last him, Jon knew, unsure when he’d be able to see any of them again. Tormund parked the truck and leaned back, pulling Jon into another hug.

“We’ll stay right around the corner,” Tormund promised, sensing Jon’s lingering fear. Jon let himself melt into the easy contact as the big man rested an equally big hand against Jon’s shoulder blades. “If he tries anything, you call us and we’ll be right there. Right there, little cub.”

“I know,” Jon whispered.

“We promise,” Ygritte agreed and Jon leaned in to hug her as well. Ghost stayed between them, ever the furry attention hog, and Jon let himself embrace the feeling before making himself pull away.

“Drop me off around the corner, okay? We don’t need them to tag your truck.”

The fifteen minute drive back to the Stark’s house was almost as long for Jon as the last hour had been for Ned. Having five children had give Ned plenty of experience with heart pounding fear. From small babes with spiking fevers to nightmares and getting separated when shopping. Ned had felt fear before, but never like this. None of his children has ever run away before and Ned never wanted to feel this helpless ever again. He got home from work to find a household in chaos.

He had missed Jon’s departure by mere minutes and walked directly into the aftermath with a terrified Robb and a horribly confused and worried Arya. The shattered glass had been the last thing on Ned’s mind, especially once his children pieced together the story for him. For the next half hour Ned drove his car around the neighborhood and tried to not think about Lyanna’s son out in such a torrential downpour, scared and alone. But at least when Ned was thinking about Jon out there, he wasn’t thinking about what drove Jon to run away.

A broken glass. Did Jon really have such little faith in him? So little as to think that Ned would truly be upset over broken dish ware? It was a selfish hurt, Ned knew, but a hurt none the less. It had been soothed just slightly when Robb had finally called him, getting a text back from Jon, letting him know that he was alright. Ned had returned home by then, no longer patrolling the streets, looking for any overhanging or shelter that Jon could have found to wait out the storm and finding nothing. Robb and Arya needed him home, so Ned had gone home and waited with them.

He had managed to calm Arya and send her off to her room, Nymeria at her side, by the time Cait came home with Sansa, Bran, and Rickon in tow. Sansa had taken one worried look at her brother and sat beside him while Cait had quickly consulted with Ned. That was a fight he knew they would be having later, Cait concern taking a different form than Ned’s own. This wouldn’t be the first fight they had had, and Ned knew it wouldn’t be the last, but Cait was a good woman. He knew that and so did she.

It was only after getting another text that confirmed Jon would be back soon that Ned coaxed Robb and Sansa off to the library to focus on their own studies, instead of to wait by the door with him. Robb hadn’t been an easy sell, anxious to see his cousin and make sure he was alright with his own two eyes, but Robb had nodded solemnly when Ned said he needed to talk to Jon.

With the storm finally ending, metaphorically and physically, Ned went onto the front porch to wait for Jon. Valor, Ned’s own husky, was on the porch with him keeping an equally sharp look out for their nephew. Ned was glad he was sitting when Jon finally came around the corner, for he was afraid he knees would have given out otherwise. Though Jon wouldn’t look up as he walked towards the house, Ned was smart enough to see the fear in the way his shoulder hunched and he hesitated just slightly before turning the corner up the walkway.

It was time, Ned knew, to put away his propriety. He had tried being careful around Jon, but it was possible he had been too careful. Ned didn't always know which words to use, but he had always known how to speak through actions. As Jon walked up onto the porch, his eyes averted and his body held stiffly, Ned finally stopped holding himself back.

This time he really did let his knees buckle as he knelt before Jon, pulling the boy into a strong hug and not letting go. He felt the boy’s muscle tense up and his breathe hitch in his throat and thought about letting go, putting space between them again, but there had been too much space. Jon belonged here, he was _family._ No matter if he ran away or made a mess or anything. He was their flesh and blood. He was Lyanna’s boy and his name was Stark. Ned wouldn’t let the boy go without realizing that nothing would. change that. Certainly not some shattered dish ware, no matter what Jon believed to the contrary.

Jon whispered _something_ into Ned’s shoulder that he couldn’t make out but it didn’t matter. All that mattered is that after a moment Jon stopped holding himself so stiffly and allowed his body to not quite relax into the touch, but at least become more lax. Both men remained almost completely silent. Jon wasn’t crying, but Ned could feel his breath hitching against his chest in a poor approximation of a sob.

“It’s okay,” Ned promised. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, Jon. You’re not in trouble. It’s okay.” They stayed like that for a few long moments before Ned pulled back so he could look Jon in the eye. “Please, never run away like that again,” Ned asked.

Jon nodded quietly, still not meeting Ned’s eyes and Ned needed him to, the same wayhe had needed Sansa to look at him when Arya ripped her favorite dress or when Robb failed his first test. Ned needed his children to learn and understand. Right now, he needed Jon to _understand._

“Will you look at me, Jon? Please?”

Reluctantly, Jon looked up. Grey eyes met each other and Ned hoped that this physical reminder of family was more of a boon than a burden.

“You scared us, Jon. A lot.” Ned said and Jon could just only nod. _I was scared too_ , Jon wanted to say, but didn’t know how. So instead he said the only thing that really came to mind.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He expected Ned’s grip to tighten, expected an apology he only half meant to be insufficient. He waited for nothing, because the only thing Ned did was pull Jon back in for another hug.

“Just promise me you won’t do it again,” Ned breathed into the boy’s hair. “I don’t care what happens, Jon. We can only fix things when we fix them together.”

Jon nodded against Ned’s chest, even thought it felt like a lie. Jon knew he would probably run away again before this was all over. There was more than one note about it in his file. But maybe, just maybe, Ned would let Jon come back after he ran. If Ned was lying to him, it was a lie he was dedicated too and it would ware Jon thin continuing to doubt him.

Ned wanted to say more, but the feel of Jon’s wet clothes soaking through Ned’s own reminded him of everything the boy had just been through. He pulled back once again, remembering Robb’s words about Jon cutting his hands against the glass. His gaze went immediately to the boy’s appendages. It was both a relief and yet raised even more questions to find Jon’s hands neatly bandaged. Underneath the gaze, Jon tucked his hands back into his pockets and Ned pocketed the question for a later date. Comfort first.

“Come on, lets get you into some warm clothes,” Ned said, leaving his questions for later. Leaning against Valor, Ned finally stood with the hound’s help. Gods, he was getting old. “We can keep talking inside over a glass of cocoa.” Jon nodded, following along behind Ned looking undeniably small. It would take a lot to wipe that look of confusion off the boy’s face, but Ned hoped to lessen it tonight with truth and honesty. The only way out was through, and Ned was in this for the long haul.

He would need answers eventually.Where Jon had gone and who had helped him. But for now, it was enough to know that someone had. It was enough that Jon came back. Jon wasn’t alone in this world, Ned knew. And maybe now Jon would begin to believe it. They walked inside together, Ned’s arm around his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who read the last chapter within the first 20 minutes of posting before I had a spur of the moment authorial change of mind, I promise we'll be meeting the special guest star I mentioned next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Ned finally have that Talk. Jon and Robb finally do some bonding ft. Theon because this chapter said so. Bossy little bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I’m alive. Sorry, things kind of went tails up for me over the past week both in my writing time and in life in general. This chapter didn’t want to cooperate. Or, more precisely, I wanted the chapter to move ahead and the actual chapter said “No, we need Jon to spend time with Robb and Theon.” To which I said “Okay, lets write that then.” To which the chapter did it’s. best John Mulaney impression and screamed “Noo!”
> 
> So good news, while I wrestled with Theon I also wrote what the muses wanted, which means the next chapter is a lot further along that usual and shouldn’t take half as long assuming everything begins to cooperate again.
> 
> Thank you again for all of the wonderful comments! It took me longer to respond this time (mostly out of guilt that this chapter was taking so long) but I hope to get more on top of it now that some of my time is freeing up.

Jon sat at the kitchen table, shifting awkwardly under his uncle’s watchful eye. He had changed into new clothes like his uncle had asked. He wore one of the new pairs of jeans they had given him, but allowed himself the comfort of donning his black hoodie. He grasped the cuffs of it now, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He could feel the ridges of the stitches Gilly had done for him. They weren’t easily visible thanks to the black thread, but the protection runes she had sewn into the garment were still a comfort. 

Jon wasn’t sure if he believed in the gods, and he knew the runes were more hopes than promises, but still, they made him feel brave. Not because of the gods, but because it reminded him that Gilly had wanted to protect him, wanted to help him be brave. He mustered up that braveness and reminded himself he has faced worse than a single man’s anger before looking up to meet his uncle’s eyes.

It would be easier if Ned was angry, part of Jon thought. He didn’t know how to respond to this careful kindness, didn’t know how to trust it. 

Ned had set a mug of hot chocolate in front of him, but Jon didn’t dare lean forward to drink from it. He was afraid his limbs might still be shaking and he didn’t want to risk another mistake. One was, perhaps, forgivable, but Jon knew repeated offenses were punished more severely. That was just common sense. 

“Can you tell me why you ran away, Jon?” 

What was Jon supposed to say? _I thought you were going to hurt me? I was convinced I was somewhere else?_ Those were the truth, but they weren’t answers anyone wanted to hear. So Jon chose to remain silent. When there’s nothing good to say… 

“You’re not in trouble,” he said, like the more times he said it the more likely Jon would be to believe him. “I just want to know so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Jon…” Ned was not a stupid man. In fact, he was the father of five children. He could see the Jon didn’t trust the kindness in his eyes. Ned needed answers, but to get answers, Ned needed Jon to respond. If asking directly wouldn’t help, he would just have to try a different approach.

“Did Arya break the glass?” Ned asked. Jon balked at the thought, giving Ned his first real reaction. He stood up quickly, his fists clenched tightly inside of his sweatshirt. thinking about lunging but knowing it was a bad idea. Ned hadn’t hurt him. But better him than Arya.

“No,” he said. His blood froze at the very thought. “It’s not her fault. You should punish me, not her!” 

Ned looked at Jon. The boy had gone from carefully motionless to lightning-fast anger so strong it almost made Ned back down. Almost. Jon looked like Greywind when the dog was ready to pounce. His hackles raised and teeth bared. His body was in a near-perfect boxer’s stance and Ned idly wondered who taught him to fight. It looked professional. However, that was another question for another time. A time when Jon didn’t look ready to claw his way out of a corner.

“...why do you think I’m going to punish you?” Ned asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.

“Because it was my fault,” Jon said like a dare. Like a challenge. It was a far cry from the cowering boy of before and Ned knew he was missing something so thoroughly he wouldn’t be able to make sense of this profoundly angry boy until he did. He thought of Caitlin’s whispered worries, of a history of fights that Jeor had warned them about, two years of missing time and a perfect boxer’s stance. But Jon wasn’t just angry, he was _scared_ and that was an important distinction. Ned took a moment to truly think until the realization slammed into his chest hard enough to break a rib.

_Not her!_

Jon was protecting someone. He was protecting Arya. 

“Oh Jon,” Ned heard himself saying as he moved forward, but before he could get close to Jon the boy had already backed away. He still held bravery in his stance, a sharp defiance, but his arms were raised as if to block an onslaught of hits. 

Ned found himself, once again, kneeling before the boy. He gently laid his hand on Jon’s raised arm and, even though he had anticipated the flinch, didn’t make it less heartbreaking. Being eye to eye with the boy showed Ned the true look of bewilderment in those grey eyes that quickly turned hard. This was an entirely different Jon than Ned had seen before. There was hurt fueled anger deep in those eyes that looked more like they belonged to Benjin after he had come home from the war than his nephew of five and ten.

“I am not your other foster fathers,” Ned said. He kept a gentle hand on Jon’s arm and made sure it stayed just that, gentle. Ned was well aware they were on a precipice here. One mistake and Jon could run again. It was the odds of the flip of a coin, and Ned had never been one for betting on chance. 

“They hurt you, your other foster families, didn’t they?” Ned asked and hoped it wasn’t a misstep.

“You’ve read my file,” Jon hissed, wanting to leave this conversation as soon as possible. What he meant was don’t make me talk about it. Jon’s file was a history of violence and being a fuck-up. He knew what was in there. Hospital files and police reports. Jon’s entire fucking life, except for the secrets he had managed to keep. He didn’t want to think about them, let alone talk about it. 

“No, Jon, I haven’t.” Maybe Ned should have, but it seemed like too big an invasion of privacy at the time. Jon’s face morphed from an expression of pure hurt-fueled anger, his eyes going wide and mouth gaping slightly in confusion. Based on his reaction, Ned made the right choice. 

Jon looked at his uncle and tried to find a lie in his steady gaze, but the only thing the man was looking at him with was the truth. He didn’t know. Sure, he knew people had hurt Jon but that was practically tattooed on Jon’s forehead, he felt like. But, he didn’t know.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jon said and wondered if that would be enough to keep his uncle from asking. 

“You don’t have to,” Ned said and Jon let his shoulders drop, losing some of the tension that kept him rigid. “But I need you to know that I won’t hurt you, Jon. Even if today hasn’t been an accident, and it was, I wouldn’t hurt you. I promise.” 

“People have made that promise before.” _And they never mean it._

“I’m not like them. You’re my nephew, Jon. More importantly, you’re just a boy. No one is going to hurt you while I’m here.”

“I can’t promise,” Jon said, no longer trying to shy away from Ned’s gaze, “but I can try.”

“That’s all I can ask of you, son,” Ned said. Ned wanted nothing more than to lean forward and hug the boy again, but he didn’t want to push him any further out of his comfort zone. However,  before Ned had the chance to stand up there were two arms around him and, that, more than anything, Ned counted as a win.

Jon found himself sitting quietly at the kitchen table for a bit longer. The hot cocoa was welcome after the chilling temperature from outside. The cold fingers of the lashing rain hadn’t relinquished it’s grip on him quite yet. Ned, at least, didn’t try to hug Jon again, instead, they both sat in silence. Ned nursing his own mug of tea and Jon easily petting the older husky that sat at his feet. Unlike Nymeria, who’s coat was a soft cream mixed with an earthy brown,Valor’s coat was steal grey flecked with the white of old age. 

The quiet was oddly reassuring. Ned didn’t try to talk now that their conversation was clearly over and he didn’t try to pressure Jon into continuing to talk. Whatever the man’s underlying motivation — if he even had one — kept itself buried in the sand. However, the more time Jon spent around his uncle, the more he was inclined to believe it was the former and not just the latter. 

When Jon finished, Ned carefully sent him back up to his room. If he had hoped that Jon missed the way Mrs. Stark watched Jon from, what he assumed was the master bedroom, he was wrong. He knew this stunt had done nothing to endear him to the already cautious woman,but that was to be expected. As Jon discovered this family’s lack of protective instinct, some backwards part of him was glad that someone in this house had a suspicious bone in their body. After all, Jon didn’t trust himself either.

Mrs. Stark’s wariness aside, Jon still fell asleep with the word “son” echoing in his head. It sounded like a dream, one that was much more pleasant that his mind usual kicked up for him.

He woke, the next morning, not to one of his. more unpleasant dreams, but to Robb staring down at him. Jon was just conscious to register that he must have been so exhausted that he slept all the way through the night, followed up by the realization that those were blue eyes staring down at him. It was lucky Robb was a football player and had the reflexes to prove it as Jon scrambled up, a half-aborted punch missing Robb (thank the gods).

If Robb was perturbed by the violent reaction, he didn’t show it. What Jon didn’t know is that Robb had been having sleepovers with Theon all his life. This was not an unusual reaction to Robb shaking the other teen awake, so he didn’t think too much of it with Jon either. Still, Robb had a bone to pick with his cousin. 

“Don’t do that again!” Robb said as soon as Jon blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “You scared me and Arya half-to-death yesterday, Jon!” 

People expected Sansa to be the mother-hen of the Stark siblings as the oldest daughter. And it’s true, Sansa was caring even if she wasn’t always kind. But Robb, more than anything, had inherited his father’s protective worry. Jon looked at his cousin, blinking silently before a chuckle escaped his lips, turning into a huffing half-laugh that caused Robb to furrow his eyebrows in irritation. 

“Is that funny to you?” Robb asked, but already he’s starting to laugh too. It was contagious. 

“No, no. Sorry,” Jon said. He swallowed down his next laugh, trying to look sober. “It’s just… you looked like someone I used to know with your eyebrow all quirked like that and—” And with that Jon starts laughing again and really that’s the end of it. Robb looks so hilariously like Ygirtte whenever Jon went to do something stupid without her. After seeing her last night, the resemblance was more hilarious than it was heartbreaking. Robb and Ygritte would probably get along like a house on fire if— well, that was a thought for another time.

Robb looks ready to drag Jon down to breakfast, but another look at his cousin proved the need to change. He thanks the gods that he was so tired he managed to sleep on the bed. last night and slept in full pants and a hoodie. Sleeping in his day clothes was a habit he had managed to break with Tormund, but one he seemed to easily be falling back into. Still, Jon is kidding himself if he thinks Robb is going to let him out of his sight anytime soon, even if he does leave him to get dressed on his own.

The rest of the morning progressed as usual, through with a brief interlude where Arya ran straight into Jon’s legs in order to hug him and not let go. If Jon hadn’t been so worried about them being late for school, he might have never made her get off. Luckily a quiet but meaningful “I’m sorry” is enough to placate Arya, though she does make him promise to a new game of fetch soon. All in all, it’s an easy agreement to make. 

Throughout the day Jon’s phone kept up a steady buzz in his pocket. Ygritte was breaking in a new fighter at the gym today and Robb seemed more preoccupied with telling Jon about being partnered up with Theon for his history project than his actual history class. When they meet up at the end of the day at the library, Robb looked ready to pounce. Jon had to meet with his literature tutor over lunch, so they hadn’t seen each other since the morning barring blinks between classes.

“Jon,” he said excitedly. “Come on, go to Theon’s house with me. We need to work on our project and you should come! His sister can drive us.” Said sister sat at the table behind the boys and Jon was struck with how much she reminded him of Ygritte. (Again. His friend was obviously on his mind. _Getting sentimental, Snow?_ he could hear her teasing.) Wild hair and a leather jacket, this girl wouldn’t be out of place at a biker bar with a cigarette in her mouth. Like the other Greyjoy Jon had met, she had the same rough edges. Already Jon knew this was someone he could respect, which was something Theon hadn’t quite managed yet. 

Theon was the type of boy Jon normally avoided when his type cycled through Castle Black. A big mouth and a bigger temper only caused trouble. Jon hadn’t quite managed to figure out if Robb was a calming influence on the other teen, or if it was the other way around. Either way, it was clear that no matter Robb’s thoughts on Jon, Theon was still making his own decisions. There was a bitter, desperate edge to Theon’s personality that clashed against Jon’s own fucked up exterior. The other teen’s hackles had been raised from the first time he’d seen Jon dogging at Robb’s heels. 

Theon wasn’t a boy who was accustomed to sharing what little he had, and Robb was _his_. The role of loyal sidekick was already filled, thank you very much. Still, if Jon meant enough to Robb that meant he should probably mean _something_ to Theon. Not friendship, of course. But tolerance… maybe. It was worth a shot and Theon knew just the way to get the kid’s measure. 

Aside from testing his musical tastes in the car— horribly bland and uneducated, for gods’ sake, he didn’t even know who _The Rascals_ were —video games were obviously the only way the know a man’s actual worth.

His massive collection of first-person shooter games was immediately discarding on the ground of not being three-player games and Robb seemed determined get Jon and Theon aquatinted. 

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be working on a history project?” Jon protested about halfway through their excavation of plastic cases. Robb and Theon looked at each other before rolling their eyes in well-practiced unison. 

“Assassins Creed, then! It’s historical,” Robb said. He ruffled Jon’s too-long hair, causing the other teen to try and duck away while Theon rolled his eyes. Again.

“Not three player. And also boorriinnggg,” Theon replied, faking a yawn. “Next thing you’re going to suggest we play is _Mario Kart._ ”

Jon got the same feeling that had descended on him when he had made the mistake of asking what “The LionKing” was. Jon knew he was about to say next would disrupt the entire afternoon, but he was going to say it anyway. 

“…what’s Mario Kart?”

Through the clatter of outrage and shock, it was decided that they would, in fact, play Mario Kart. 

“A travesty,” Robb said, shaking his head. Jon knew he was blushing, but his embarrassment was worth it to get a smile like that out of his cousin. 

“I’m playing Bowser!” was Theon’s response, his complaints about boring video games tossed aside in the face of Robb’s own excitement, as he set up the controllers. 

Jon was shockingly good at video games, for someone who had never played before. All fear the formidable Toad. Though Theon pouted at losing, challenging each other to rematches quickly dispersed any idea of actually working on said history project which had been their original excuse to hang out. 

As Theon cursed his way through Rainbow Road and Jon took pleasure in figuring out just how many times he could fall of the track, he was reminded piercingly of Edd and his own muttered curses when they’d play poker with graham crackers and cigarettes. Theon was louder than Edd could ever be, bolder than those boys in black, but it pulled on something in Jon’s chest. It felt like loss, but wasn’t quite there. It was more bitter than sweet, but still Jon found himself laughing. It was a sweet sound. 

By the time Ned came to pick them up, Jon found he still had that same. laughter buoying up in his chest. It was… nice, Jon decided, even if he wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's bad day turns into a... complicated day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so I'm back. I am so sorry for disappearing without saying anything, but life hit a few bumps and my muse decided to ditch. However, I am /not/ giving up on this story. I have plans, I have an outline, and I want to see how this ends just as badly as you guys do (assuming any of you are left out there, sorry). 
> 
> I want to be able to promise a regular update schedule, but with my mental health how it is right now I can't in good conscious do that. At this point, I'm just going to write and update when I can. I'm aiming for updating at least twice a month, but I promise I won't leave without any word again. If something happens, I'll upload an author's note to let you know where I'm at. 
> 
> That said... enjoy?

As the days turned into weeks, something settled inside Jon’s chest. It wasn’t that he had stopped holding himself, bracing for _something_ , just that those instincts were fading a little further into the background. It was exhausting, waiting for a hit that wasn’t going to come. Logically, Jon knew this was a reprieve that couldn’t last no matter what his uncle had said, but between Jon’s laughter and the way he was slowly but surely starting to know his other cousins it was easier to let his fear sink below the surface and wait. 

It still came out at times. Flinches at all the wrong times that he sometimes barely managed to hide and nightmares that still plagued him. Quiet voices whispering through the beaks of crows that haunted him in his waking hours as well as his resting ones. There were days that Jon wanted nothing more than to hide himself away, lock the door to his room and sneak out the window and not come back. Days when he craved Tormund and Ygritte and Ghost’s fur under his finger tips. 

On those days, when he could get away, he settled for calling Ygritte or Tormund, told whoever was home he was going on a walk, and then met them at the dog park. On those days, he learned to breathe a little bit easier. 

But they weren’t always available and Jon wasn’t always brave enough to call. There were days where Jon didn’t want to go to school, to leave his room, to face anyone at all. On those days he made himself get up, equal parts fear and stubbornness, and shook through the hallways and sat with shallow breathing while his teacher droned on. He’d be two minutes late to each class because he hid during passing period, not able to take the noise or the accidental touches.

Days where Robb learned to be careful, as he tested when he should push his cousin and when he should let him be.

Robb was more forgiving than anyone Jon had ever known, except maybe Sam. On some days, Jon let himself miss Sam and pretended the guilt wasn’t going to eat him alive. 

It wasn’t one of those days where Jon wanted to hide away, when he felt his entire world turn on its side. No, it was one of those days where Jon wanted to _fight_. Jon’s anger was a bitter thing, rancid under his tongue but a taste he couldn’t wash out no matter how hard he tried. It was less present since Tormund had sat Jon in front of a heavy bag and shown him the right way to punch, but in the past month he had only managed to sneak away to Tormund’s gym once. Tor had been urging him to ask Ned for a ride but Jon had yet to manage it. Some days it was fear and some days it was pride, but either way the result was the same. It left Jon feeling stranded and alone, fighting against an enemy he couldn’t see or understand.

Alone wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling to Jon Snow, but the universe was tired of Jon feeling alone. It could be said that the world had done few things to protect Jon Snow, but this was one of it’s few acts of mercy.

Jon had resigned himself to being late to history and contemplated skipping it all together. It was U.S. History and they were studying the revolution, something Jon had already covered more than enough on his own. It might be worth it, to try and get that rage under his skin to simmer down before going back to the Stark’s house. He hadn’t been in the mood to play with Arya for spend time for Robb for days now, too angry and too afraid, itching for something he couldn’t understand. 

(He itched the same way he did before Tormund taught him to spar. He itched in the way that he missed the bruises. Jon had spent most of this life covered in them and he missed that ache and the understanding that came with it. Things were so much simpler, even if they were so much harder, and Jon missed it.) 

He was pacing the empty halls, head down and not paying attention, when Jon stumbled into someone. He opened his mouth — wither to apologize or to fight, Jon still wasn’t sure — when all the words left him at once. Warm, dark eyes that were framed by a round face and neatly combed hair that was so familiar it broke something in Jon that he didn’t know he had left to break. 

_Sam._

The last time he had seen Sam… 

_The bustle of the police station around them did nothing to settle Jon’s nerves. Instead, he just held Sam tighter. All three of them were clad in oversized Westerosi P.D. garb as they huddled together in one of the detectives' offices. ‘Dt. Seaworth’ the plaque said._

_“What are we going to do, Jon?” Sam asked. His whisper was as wobbly as his lower lip, this close to beginning to cry again. Jon didn’t want to cry. He wanted to_ scream _._

_“Tell the truth,” Gilly said from Sam’s other side. “Mrs. Wright believes me. The police will too.” The girl swallowed around the uncomfortable truth. “And besides, we have evidence.” Gilly’s eyes drifted towards her stomach and Jon felt Sam’s whimper more than he heard it. She wasright. They all had evidence on them. Each and every one._

_“We’re not going back,” Jon promised. It was a promise Jon would keep, no matter what he had to do. None of them were going back to Craster’s house. Jon would take them and run before he even thought about returned to that damned hellhole. He would kick, scream, and fight against whatever the world threw at them to keep Sam and Gilly safe. Jon knew Sam could see the seriousness in his dark grey eyes, but neither of them knew how to believe in Jon’s fists when they had been so useless before. Willpower alone wasn’t enough. If it had been, they wouldn’t be here to begin with._

_“You couldn’t stop them if they tried too. If they don’t—” Sam’s dark eyes filled with tears he couldn’t control and fear he couldn’t shake. Jon steeled his own resolve and grabbed Sam by the shoulder with his good arm, looking directly into his eyes. He hoped his own fear didn’t betray him, glad that he had managed to keep his hand steady._

_“Look at me, Sam. I’ll protect you, okay? I’m right here. Gilly’s here, too. And we’re going  to be okay.”_

_Sheer will had never forced words into reality before, but for the venimacy in Jon’s tone, the gods thought about making an exception._

_“Okay, Jon. Okay…” Jon put his arm around Sam snuggly as Gilly clung to him in the form of a hug. Jon let the brief warmth surround him, the brief feeling of safety that outweighed all the pain._

_…_

_It was only days later that Jon watched Sam leave the police department, being left behind with nothing but empty promises and the keen feeling that he had failed. Sam and Silly were_ gone _. With new families and new people who might hurt them and Jon was alone. Detective Seaworth looked at Jon, who was at least finally dressed in his own clothes, with overwhelming pity and Jon knew how this story ended._

_He wasn’t going to do this again. He couldn’t. They would move him or take him and keep him away from Sam and Gilly no matter what this detective promised._

_“I’m sorry, son,” Seaworth said, like he meant those words. “We’ll find you some place soon. I promise. Just gotta follow up on a few more leads.”_

_Leads to nowhere, Jon knew. He was on his own._

Jon could still feel that bone-aching loneliness as he struggled to look back the glaring, white police station walls and see the school hallway that blurred in front of him. This was an illusion, a farce, and it hurt more than Jon knew it could. 

Sam stared in shock at his friend. It had been two years since Samwell Tarley had seen Jon Snow. Two long years where Sam had been safe and Jon had been gods knew where. And now he was _here_. Here and also having a flashback, if the way his eyes had gone carefully blank and his breathing shallow were any indication. 

That, at least, Sam knew how to help with. 

He didn’t dare touch Jon, not knowing what new instincts Jon had gained over the years, and instead settled for sitting on the floor across from where Jon had collapsed. At least class had just begun, so Sam had the better part of an hour to try and call Jon back and get him somewhere safer than an open hallway before it was flooded with students and this became a proper scene. Not that Sam minded, he’d had plenty of scenes that the whole school had born witness to to be bothered anymore, but he knew Jon wouldn’t want that.

With practiced ease, Sam began talking. He hoped his familiar voice would still bring Jon comfort and be able to lure him out of wherever his mind had run off to. It probably wasn’t a pleasant place, going by the way Jon’s entire body seemed to shake. Best not to leave him there. Sam remembered when Jon would have attacked like this when they had still been in Craster’s house. Sometimes he’d come back from the room to find Jon curled up inside the closet, his knees pulled to his chest and his fingers clinched in his hair just like this. Sometimes Sam would talk for hours trying to lure Jon back to the present, so that’s what he did now. Maybe it shouldn’t be so easy to slip back into that position, after two long years of healing — he’d have to talk to his therapist about it later — but right now he was grateful. From the looks of it, Jon had been alone for years now. He shouldn’t be alone anymore. 

So Sam talked. He talked about _Of Mice and Men_ and the French Revolution and chemistry compositions he still didn’t understand but that Gilly had taken to like a weed. Sam talked about the weather and the trip to the mountains Mister Aemon had taken him on in the summer, about fresh air and adventures. He talked about Gilly and her baby, who was slow to talk but quick to walk. About how they were okay, they were safe, about how no one would hurt them here. No one would get to Jon, not while Sam was there to keep them away. 

It took almost thirty minutes for Jon’s breathing to even out and another ten for his eyes to clear, but eventually when Sam looked into Jon’s grey eyes there was recognition and not panic looking back. 

“—Sam?” Jon asked, his voice painfully small and terribly, terribly afraid. 

“Hi Jon,” Sam said, like that would somehow be enough. 

“Are you— are you really—?” Jon asked. He wasn’t convinced Sam wasn’t just a delusion, born of desperation and some twisted fear. This didn’t feel like any hallucination he’d had before, but maybe it was stress induced. Could Sam really…

In answer, Sam offered out a hand. It was a pudgy thing, but it wasn’t as drawn and pale as it had been the last time Jon had latched onto it before making the mistake of letting go. Sam’s color was healthy, with no bruises or welts in sight. Before he could think better of it, Jon reached out and latched on tight. The hand was _warm_. 

“I’m here, Jon. I’m right here.”

That warm voice, that warm hand. Without any further hesitation, Jon pulled Sam towards him and he didn’t care that it was the middle of a school hallway or that classes would be getting out soon because Sam was _here_. 

_Are you okay?_ Jon’s hug asked. _Are you safe? I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry I broke my promise. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. Can you forgive me? Please?_

“I’m okay Jon, really, I’m okay,” Sam answered as if he could hear Jon’s thoughts as he hugged back. Both of their grips where tight enough to bruise but neither of them were willing to let go. Bringing them back to reality, Sam said, “The lunch bell is going to ring soon. Come with me, there’s a room in the councilor’s office we can use to eat. Alright?”

Jon nodded, agreeing with a greedy eagerness. As the pain stood up, neither let go of the other’s hand. _You’re alive,_ that shared warmth said, _you survived, you’re right here._ Sam knew he’d have to go back to his teacher later to get his backpack, he’d have to explain what happened, but that could wait. For now they recused Sam’s lunch from his locker and hurried to one of the special needs rooms Sam had been given full access to. They got there just in time, the bell ringing right as they shut the door behind themselves. 

Jon didn’t bother eating the half of Sam’s lunch that he passed over. His stomach was all in knots and he knew he’d just throw it up sooner rather than later.

“Where did you go, Jon? It was only two days after they had moved me in with Mister Aemon and he was talking about trying to get in contact with you when Detective Seaworth called asking if we had seen you… where did you go? What happened?”

Jon thought about answering, thought about what words he could even say, but in the end, all he could say was the truth. 

“I got scared. I ran away. It was the only thing I had left to do. They were talking about moving me to a different school district again, or maybe even a different city, if they couldn’t find somewhere good for me here. And I… I couldn’t chance it. I’d rather risk being on my own than ending up with someone like _him_ again. And with you and Silly safe…”

It felt like an excuse. It felt like a betrayal. Sam’s eyes went soft and wet and Jon looked down at his hands as they curled even tighter onto the sleeves of his sweatshirt. 

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Sam said. It made Jon pause. Made him breathe. Jon _knew_ Sam wouldn’t be angry, but it was still a relief. After all, Jon had left. It was the one thing he had promised never to do. “Where are you now?” Sam asked, “Are you safe?”

Jon thought about Ned and the promises his uncle hadn’t yet broken. He thought about Robb, his fierce protectiveness and the word _pack._ He thought about watching Bran climb trees in the backyard while Arya ignored her homework. 

“I think… I think I might be,” Jon said, and in that moment he meant it. 

Mollified for now, and wanting to move onto other, more cheerful things, Sam let Jon steer the conversation away. To Gilly and the baby she had named _Sam_ — and oh, the way Jon’s friend went red when he said that. To Mister Aemon and all the ways Sam had grown. Jon didn’t say much, but allowed himself to be soothed by the voice of his friend and the feel of another person being so close without any of the fear that normally would have come with such an action. 

When the lunch bell sounded the hour’s end, Jon didn’t move even though he knew he needed to.

“Where’s your phone?” Sam asked. Jon handed it over easily, already unlocking it for his friend. A few moments and a couple of clicks later Sam handed it back with three new contacts. 

“My number, Gilly’s, and Mister Aemon’s. _Call me_ , Jon. _Please_.” Sam said, earnest and eager and more full of hope than Jon had even seen him. 

“I will,” Jon promised. “Meet in the library for lunch tomorrow?” 

“Deal,” Sam said. Without another word they both hugged each other tight, relishing the feel of each other. They had survived Craster, survived their years apart, and somehow managed to find each other again. It was more of a kindness than Jon knew what to do with and he didn’t want to let go for fear the world might take Sam away again. 

Nevertheless, the two parted and Jon reminded himself: tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after wanting to have shown up three chapters ago, Sam is here!


End file.
